From the Top
by Teh Brainclones
Summary: Without dark there can't be light, so with peace there can't be balance. The world has lost its villains, almost all its darkness, and so the Precursors decide to restore that balance through a mass resurrection. Whether the people want them to or not.
1. Balance

**Disclaimers: **

The _Jak and Daxter _game series and all related elements _© Naughty Dog Incorporated_

Herz, Doe and Koe Hessian, Rall Hage/Hessian, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and most named KG _© Blu_

Rheanon and Seima Llast and most named Precursors _© Laina _

Rfena Veras, Azalea Mirithir, Giu Avaar, Keela Sevah, and Aelyn Adalla _© Taitai_

Veer Shurra, Melir Varhaden, Kisan Acheron, Emori Geel, Makao Lurish, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and Rune Thian _© Nashi _

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**Authors' Notes:**

Dear gentle, understanding and most compassionate reader,

You are about to embark on the most cracktastic, canon smearing, in-character fic you have ever had the mis/fortune to stumble upon. If you understand even a tiny bit of it, well, congratulations.

This fic will include, but is not limited to, the following;

Ignoring of the laws of…basically everything. Slash. Extremely detailed Eco Theory. Incest. Pointing out of things you probably never paid any attention to in the games. FAR too much mention of time travel. Awkward family reunions. VERY awkward family reunions. Awkward families in general. More OC story arcs than you can shake anything, let alone a stick, at. Threatening behavior. Allusions to serious abuse, criminality, and getting plastered. Lotsa paperwork for Torn (yay). Bipolar Baronesses. One PISSED OFF ex. A resurrected king. An angrily resurrected BARON. A racer with sand in unpleasant places. ONE Original Character x Canon Character pairing. Assgrabbing. Metalhead x KG pairing. FLG x KG pairing, sorta. Bizarre familial relations that were never mentioned in-game. Fanboys. Homophobes. Poorly-translated German. Names that are way too freaking hard to pronounce. An all around lack of sunglasses. Uncomfortable conversational topics. LOTS of uncomfortable conversational topics. Cranky people. Happy people. CONFUSED AS HELL people. Dead people…only not. Gol with a spoon. Technically, necrophilia. Lotsa stuff we'll act like you already know when really you don't. Far too much starting-in-the-middle. Cat fights. Backstories. Insanity and chaos. Arc after arc after arc…

…OH, _and_ a mostly-sane Erol.

If _**any**_ of the aforementioned topics disagree with you in any way, then you're _seriously_ missing out. Like whoa. So, I guess sux 2 b u.

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**One: Balance**

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In the year during which the Kras Racing Tourney took place, and for a year afterward, there was—for once—no mention of anything bigger, anything related to the Precursors or Mar or any serious universe-threatening danger. This was because the Precursors themselves, far from the planet but in constant orbit through the same system, on the light daystar called the Green Sun, were deliberating.

The council had been meeting in full almost since they'd left the planet with Mar in tow. True, they had sent him back half the year into the journey, to the bare moments after his past self had left in the ship, but it was not without reluctance.

High Leader Rewaf was approached by several of his followers—mostly the few Light Channelers—who had brought up a point shortly after Mar had left. A point that had been avoided over the years, because the truth of it was not something the council had wanted to be public knowledge.

Apparently the Light Precursors had figured it out anyway. It made sense that they had, seeing as it was their base energy that epitomized one half of the realization, but that didn't make it any easier to hear.

Particularly not from Rewaf's own granddaughter, so young yet that she hadn't even come fully into her powers.

"There's something wrong," the little white Precursor had whispered. "Something _very_ wrong. We were all talking about it after Mar left, about the Light and—" she lowered her voice to a mere breath between teeth. "—and the Dark. The Dark in him. A-And we all realized something."

There was something inherently wrong with the war. Mar himself had shown this race that just because the Makers were Light and the Dark Makers were the opposite—beings of shadow and night and the bitter tang of a Higher Eco seemingly gone wrong—didn't mean that such darkness was evil.

Mar had been infused with Dark Eco, and while the Precursors could have banished the Dark from his system entirely they had chosen, instead, to counterbalance that. Mar had grown dependent on the Dark within him to survive, a sudden removal would more than likely cause his death. And even if he did survive, he would have been lost to madness—again, and permanently this time.

Then there was Veger, the man who had claimed the right of transformation to Precursor. He had named himself an emissary of Light, even toyed with the highest of energies his race could wield. His own child, shattered as she was, was the most focused Light Saturate the Precursors had seen on this nameless world since they went into hiding. He had an affinity with Light, that one, and yet he was most certainly _not_ on the side of good.

And therein lay the problem. Light was not always good, and Dark was not always evil. There was need for a balance, a coexistence, for even the smallest of lives to continue unabated.

But Mar's world no longer _had_ a balance. There was peace, most certainly, but no balance. The darker side of the balance; elves like Baron Praxis, Erol, and even long dead figures such as the Acherons, had all been eradicated.

Without them, the world would ultimately fall into ruin. And that was no good, because they were going to actively _need_ Mar sometime in the future. Which meant that the world itself needed to continue.

The question currently under deliberation was a difficult one: How were they going to accomplish that? They couldn't just _create_ new enemies to drop on their children. That went against all that they represented, all they _were_. The elven race had proven capable of creating its own enemies in the past, but that took time. Time that this young race simply didn't have. If this imbalance wasn't remedied soon, the entire world could fall to ruin within a century.

Something had to be done.

It had been yet another solid month of debate and they were running out of ideas. More importantly, they were running out of time. Elder Rewaf, High Leader of the entire Precursor race, had been listening silently for weeks now, as the ideas were narrowed down into only a few choices, hoping that someone would come up with the solution.

He knew what had to be done. It had been obvious from the moment that the problem that funneled this debate had been brought up. So far, no one had suggested the idea. He hadn't mentioned it, hoping that someone else would have the initiative and the memory to recall that it could be done. It would take careful planning, intense study and calculation, but it could be done.

It _had_ to be done, or all was lost.

Today, as many days before, the debating continued. Rewaf nodded to Rheanon as she set a tray of food in front of him, motioning for her to wait a moment. When there was a lull in the continued conversation, the Elder Precursor raised his hand to call attention. The entire Council turned to him, and he turned to Rheanon.

She was young, young enough to still believe where others didn't, to see things in a different light where others couldn't. Hopefully she would be able to state what had to be done.

"Granddaughter, if faced with this problem of ours, what would you do?"

"Hmm…" Orange eyes took in the council chamber as the small ottsel thought. "I remember some of the stories that Mother used to tell us before…you know." She lowered her eyes and continued quietly. "There was one that had a bunch of people that had lost their balance, and—"

"If you're suggesting we follow a…a kitling's _bedtime story_, Elder Rewaf" Miena interjected, "then I am afraid your will may end up being challenged before this cycle is through."

He simply smiled. The spark had been lit, it would be enough for the others to set this idea burning.

Formah squinted in thought. "Hmm, you know, I think I know that one," he said, as though musing to himself. "It's been a long time since I heard it, 'course—a long time since any of us were kits—but I remember." He interlocked his black-on-gold fingers, elbows on the table, and gave the older ottsel next to him a faint smile. "Do you remember, Lik'ter? I think it was you that told me the story when I was still a kit."

The grey-furred Precursor nodded sagely. Once his fur has been the clearest blue, dark to the point of black at the ends of his fingers and toes and tail, but it had long since faded out to an icy grey, much like there were streaks and patches of near-white on Formah now. "Thousands of years ago, I think it was. Well before Mar came the first time, and all over again."

His sapphire eyes narrowed slightly, as though trying to peer through a great fog off in the distance. "Five of our kind…renegades, but still our kind…performed a small resurrection on a dying, unfinished planet."

Miena raised one furry eyebrow ridge.

"Not only for the high species," Lik'ter continued, "but the lower ones as well. If there was only one butterfly, now there were seven. Seven of all they could gather, of all they could find. And more of the high species, enough of Dark and Light both to bring balance enough to the planet. Enough for it to…to…" He trailed off and shook his head with a weak chuckle. "My apologies, Formah, it has been so long since you were a kitling. I do not remember."

Formah shook his head. "Don't apologize, old friend. I remember the rest." He turned to look out at the rest of the council. "It was enough for the planet to finish itself. For the earth to revive and start working again, to level the mountains that we should have leveled and fill the lakes that we should have filled—that we hadn't been _able_ to fill thanks to an attack from our Dark sister-race. The world, once it reached a proper balance, completed itself and gained protection from our Dark sisters and brothers, and proved itself able to survive all on its own."

"And what," queried Liahar from the far end of the table, her scarlet eyes glinting with nothing but curiosity, "happened to the Precursors who performed this resurrection?"

Here Formah turned and looked past Lik'ter and instead on to Fah'tol, the oldest of the Precursors and as such keeper of memories, of records and recollections to be passed on to his great-grandchildren's grandchildren.

He tapped his claws idly on the table. "I don't quite remember…but I believe," he whispered, blue-white eyes narrowed slightly in thought, "that they died." The white-furred elder nodded slowly. "Yes, they must have died. Only five, none of them a proper conduit…they must have died. They must have—" His eyes widened, a sudden clarity coming to his vision that hadn't been seen in some time. "They must have used a measure of True Eco for that, Elder Rewaf! We have a store of such energy, yes, but none of us could wield it. It would take someone whose body and channeling lines hadn't settled completely yet. Someone—"

"Someone young," Formah completed before Fah'tol could get too worked up. Amber eyes cast to meet Rheanon's orange. "A kitling."

"You aren't _seriously_ suggesting we consider this, Elder Rewaf!" Miena's voice was layered with incredulity. "We can't follow some kitling's story as—as fact!" She gestured harshly at Rheanon, who still stood silent at her grandfather's side

Rewaf gestured toward Fah'tol. "Fah'tol was alive in that time, Miena. He knows it happened because he read and filed the original report." He smiled faintly. "You forget that, as the leader of this race, I have had access to every record of our people. I learned of this many, many years ago. It is possible."

"Not only possible," Lik'ter added, "but very plausible."

Miena turned her gaze away from Rewaf's white-furred granddaughter to look at her fellow council members. All other talk, whispers and quiet asides, had ceased at this point, curiosity pervading the room.

"So," Rewaf declared, "the question is, can we find the records on this small-scale resurrection, and duplicate it in a larger form?" He turned to the aging record-keeper again. "Fah'tol?"

"There is mention of it," he replied. "But…I don't recall there being anything specific. Unless we can figure out the specifics and calculations to enhance them…" He raised a hand and waved slightly, summoning one of the other serving-hands in the room.

Seima came forward, having refused to leave until her younger sister, Rheanon, was permitted the same courtesy. Fah'tol whispered something in her ear, touched the middle of her palm with this index finger, and sent her off.

Several minutes passed in tense silence. Rheanon slowly stepped behind her grandfather's chair, taking a break from getting caught by Miena's accusing gaze.

"If you don't mind my asking," Miena started once Rheanon moved out of her line of sight, "what exactly are we going to do if we _do_ manage to work out a resurrection? Who—and what—are we going to be brought back?"

"Well…if balance is to be restored," Lik'ter said, "we must restore darkness to Mar's world. We must bring back those who represented Dark. Enough Dark to balance the Light of those who live now."

Formah's eyes narrowed slightly, riddled with guilt. "After all that work to wipe them out, they're just being brought back anyway. Our poor children…"

"Not just them," Liahar stated easily. "Lots were killed before they could make the decision between the different paths. We would have to bring them back, too, to make sure the balance continued to—"

She cut off when the door slid open and Seima returned, garnering the complete attention of the Council. She held something in her small hands, and handed it carefully to Fah'tol when she reached him.

It was a book.

He smiled when he took it, running his pure white paws over the worn cloth and coppery metal. As he watched, Rewaf couldn't help but feel a swell of amazement not unlike Fah'tol's obvious nostalgia that the book had survived for so long—and still appeared to be in good repair! Such forethought his people had…

"I _think_ this is the right one," Seima said, enunciating carefully. She too, was still so young. If not for her energy alignment—proclaimed by her burnt-sienna fur and bright red eyes—she could have been the kitling to use in this endeavor.

"It is," Fah'tol murmured. "This describes various extensions of power and their conversions. It isn't normally used anymore—most of the standard information has been digitized these days—but I think it will help."

Seima gave a nod to the elder and then beckoned to Rheanon; the smaller ottsel kit padded over, and together they turned to leave.

Liahar raised a hand for attention. "Rheanon, I think you should stay. From what we've heard so far, _you_ may just have to be our conduit."

Rewaf's nod confirmed it. Rheanon gave Seima a pleading look, but her minutes-older littermate only patted her head and waved for her to move back to stand at their grandfather' side. Once she returned to her original place, Rewaf lightly patted her hand in reassurance.

The council room once more broke out in a buzz of voices.

"That was well done kitling. I'm very proud of you."

"I…I didn't do anything," she breathed, eyes downcast.

He smiled. "Someday you may feel otherwise."

A moment passed. "Grandfather," she said slowly. "What about the elves? Shouldn't we…warn them about what we're planning to do? And—And the people who've been dead longer aren't going to understand the differences. Things have been moving forward without them."

"They're just going to have to deal," Miena said, tossing her red hair over one shoulder. "If Mar had just stayed longer, until we'd worked this all out, he might have been able to warn them. But he didn't, and now there's no way to contact them."

"It's better this way, in the long run," Formah agreed. "It'll be hard, but it will also restore the planet to what it is capable of, and ensure Mar's help in the future when we need him. Really, it's a win-win for all."

Rheanon didn't exactly frown, and whatever thoughts she had about Formah's statement she kept to herself, but Rewaf knew just from the twitch in her tail that she didn't like this plan very much.

"Just the elves, not the Hora Quan," Lik'ter said. "We can't very well bring back the Hora Quan anyway, considering they aren't our children."

Liahar spoke next. "Which elves? And from _when_?"

"The Acherons most definitely. They were the first that Mar defeated, and meant quite a lot to the balance of the world," Fah'tol replied. "I believe the sage will be one of our more important resurrections, if we can manage it."

"They'll need to be cleansed and rebalanced," added Miena, "otherwise they won't last more than two months once they're back."

"That should be easy enough. Who else?"

"Baron Praxis and Commander Erol."

"What about that Krew fellow? And Mizo."

"No, Krew's daughter effectively took up their duties when they died, so they're both rather superfluous."

"We're not going to want just them. I think we're going to need King Damas, too. And the soldiers that died in that—that _massacre_ that sparked the rebellion against Praxis."

On and on it went. Names and ranks of people and organizations were thrown around the room. Some were rejected as unnecessary, replacements for them already in place on the planet. Most were accepted as needed. Finally, the debating was called to a halt.

It had been decided. It was for the good of the planet, and the good of the race that the Precursors had created. Though the Makers themselves would never be able to end their own war and regain proper balance—it required changing things that had been integrated into them for millennia—they could repair the damage done to their fledgling race, and the damaged planet.

The power calculations were left to the buzzing minds of three Blue Eco-channeling council members, and with the added assistance of Fah'tol's book, it was figured and calculated and refigured until they had a final equation to follow.

It took two weeks. After over a year of debate and discussion, the calculations only took _two weeks_. It was painfully ironic.

Using Rheanon as the conduit was the risky part. She was still too young to have been properly trained, and if they pushed too fast they could run the risk of burning her out. Likewise, if the pushed too slowly the energy field would collapse and rebound, shattering Rheanon's eco field and damaging all the others. There would be a circle around her of the other Light Channelers as guides and directors, but anyone trained enough to do what they had to was far too old to do what Rheanon was needed for. But there were so few Light Channelers already, the risk was more dire than most could comprehend.

But it was the only way. Rheanon had agreed to take the risk of being a conduit—not without some convincing from her grandfather, she was shy and scared out of her mind by the prospect of what she was doing—and the others had followed.

Everything was coming together, threads in the tapestry pulling close to create a full picture the likes of which the Precursors' child-race had never seen, and wouldn't soon forget.

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Three days after the calculations were made, a full conference was called. Not a soul was left out—those who couldn't leave their quarters were sent a broadcast to view, and all the rest gathered in the little-used population hall at the heart of the ship.

"The process will go something like this," Siinmak—one of the oldest Light Channelers, second only to Fah'tol—explained to all the Precursors willing to be involved in the endeavor. "All Channelers will be split into groups according to the alignments, and each group will be placed on a specific level and sector of the ship. You'll all be given your specific positions according to age and ability, and those will be explained later by individual council members. When everyone is in position, these same council members will give a signal and everyone will push their power through to the person ahead of them."

"This," Formah continued, gesturing about with his hands, "will ensure a collective chain of Eco that will gather at the center of the ship. The circle of Light Channelers," he gestured at Siinmak, "will cycle the eco through three times through their group to make sure there's proper combination, forming the Light Eco. From there, they're going to channel the energy into Rheanon, who will let it cycle seven more times before pushing it out it into a large concussion blaster that's being built as we speak."

Rewaf waved a hand to garner the attention of his people, looking out over them as the council gave their explanations. "This device will be lined with True Eco," he warned, "so _no one_ is to come in contact with it except the other Elders and myself. During the channeling process we will all be focused on keeping the field stable, with the added assistance of the two Dark Channelers in our number."

A murmur of dissent rippled through the crowd. True Eco was hard to handle, being the end-all of energy types, the material used to create worlds and bring life to those worlds, and while the Dark Channelers would be helpful, it still didn't feel safe to be using them. Poor things, genetic throwbacks to the days when the Dark Makers and the Precursors had been one race, it was rare they lived to adulthood with no one to teach them to handle their own energy. Expecting them to do much of anything was dangerous.

Dangerous, but necessary.

"While we hold the lining of True Eco in place, Rheanon will fuse the Light Eco she channeled with it and thereby set off a chain reaction. The imbalance in the True Eco will cause an overflow of restorative energy—but we Elders will already have planted our will in the True Eco, so it _will_ do as it's been shown."

Now there was a shiver. All eco was alive, to be sure, but the sudden realization that True Eco could be assumed to have some form of sentience… It was a frightening prospect for the younger Makers to face. No wonder their elders always warned them of the danger in attempting to harness True Eco.

Rewaf continued, not nearly as oblivious to his people's concern as he seemed. "Once the chain reaction is set off, the blaster will be fired at the planet and waves of eco will focus where it has been told and restore the lives necessary to save our child-race from stagnation."

He turned to Siinmak and nodded, and the Elder stepped forward and looked out over the crowd. "Assignments will be delivered to your homes as soon as possible—be willing to leave for practice at a moment's notice. For now, you are dismissed."

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In the chaos of the concussion blaster's assembly and the Precursors practicing their channeling like never before, a smaller, much more dangerous experiment was underway. Rewaf pretended ignorance to what Rheanon and Seima were doing ever so quietly, only leaving little things for their exercise.

Both plans were on schedule. Rheanon would be present to channel the Eco needed to rebalance the planet, and then shortly after she would attempt something far more dangerous to herself. It would not be for quite some time, but Rewaf already knew of its success—his granddaughter would walk with Mar's people, as one of them, soon enough. For now she was needed here.

Another several months passed before the blaster was ready, merged properly with the ship and arranged so as to allow Rheanon and the other Light Channelers a place to stand, and the Elders and Dark Channelers space enough around the outside to hold the True Eco lining in place. After that, it took still another half a year before the Light Daystar orbited close enough to the planet to complete its task—by then it had been almost three years since Mar had taken down the Dark Maker ship dispatched to twist his planet.

It was almost time. There were only a few last minute preparations to be completed—everyone knew their place, their part, and their duty—and all that was left was to check once more on the connections of this weapon that was not really a weapon, this cannon that would give life rather than take it.

Finally, things were ready. Rheanon pressed her small paws against the round knob at the heart of the Light Channelers' platform, took a deep breath, then nodded.

"_Now_!" She called, her headpiece sending the message out through the ship as fast as sound could travel.

Before echoes had even begun to reverberate through the coppery metal halls and huge chambers filled with plants and water and electricity, the other Precursors began to channel.

Rheanon closed her orange eyes as the flow began. First it reached the circle of older Channelers, and from there it cycled around the loop before flowing toward the youngest of them. To the observing crystal-cameras—the council had insisted on recording the event for the sake of science—the eco poured in and swirled over Rheanon's head, becoming a whirlpool of Light that flowed through the white ottsel, into the knob she held and then to the blaster itself. The collective power effectively halted her movements, pressing upon her with a weight like she had never felt before.

The Light contacted the True Eco inside and energy began to build. There was a soft whine as a glow collected at the tip of the weapon, growing brighter and brighter as the little white ottsel funneled more and more power into the blaster. At last there was no more eco to be channeled, and the chain reaction reached critical mass.

The elves on the planet looked up in curiosity—it changed swiftly to fear as the beam hurtled down from the sky. It impacted the earth, and waves of life-making energy flowed outwards, covering the planet.

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In the Waste, near the city of Spargus, there was a movement out in the sand. A head came up, as though breaking the surface of water after a deep dive, and the man spit the coarse granules from his mouth, wiping it from his face and then reaching up to dust it from his red-orange hair.

He had been _buried_—but how? And by whom? Bright yellow eyes looked around for a long moment as Erol, former commander of the Krimzon Guard, took in his surroundings and found nothing but sand and stone to lay blame on for where he had just woken up.

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Two matching sets of eyes, both red-flecked brown, met in confusion as Gol and Maia Acheron tumbled to the floor around a sealed Dark Eco vent and then, upon landing, levered themselves up from the sandstone covered floor deep within the Temple.

The elder Acheron took a deep breath to steady himself, and was surprised to find that he could breathe clearly. Maia merely stayed where she was, staring at her hands braced against the stone, unable to believe that she was seeing the natural tone of her skin; a healthy rose-tinted ivory had replaced of the deep slate blue and deep navy she had come to recognize as her colors. How…?

Another—much smaller—form moved, a little ways away from the vent, and Kisan opened her eyes slowly as well. Then she sat up, blinking in confusion as she realized that she could see through both eyes. She looked at her parents, the elder Acherons, and then down at herself in complete bewilderment.

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Within the city of Haven, former Baron Praxis opened his eyes and sat up with a groan. A quick glance around confirmed that, yes, he _was_ lying in an alley like last week's garbage. He slowly got to his feet, and took a longer look around. Something seemed… different.

Not _too_ far away, in the catacomb district of the same city, Damas, former King of Spargus—and Haven, before that—also looked around him in confusion. His deep violet eyes scanned the area around him as he tried to match it up with his last memory of what had been happening. Where was Jak?

On an ordinary street in the as-of-yet unrepaired slum district, a green-haired young man in red armor—Koe Hessian in name, corporal in rank—simply…woke up. With absolutely no idea where he was.

At the Power station, things were a little more…flashy in nature. Not that anyone could see, the place was almost solely left to the digital remnants of Vin these days. A surge of eco flooded the system, shorting it out for a long moment. Panels sparked and then, in an instant, all light went out, generators stopped humming, Blue Eco channels went dead. Then Vin groaned and pushed himself up from the floor as the system came back online. He raised a hand to his aching head and—froze in place. Hand… to head…?

Eyes wide behind his goggles, he looked down and discovered why he felt so terribly heavy. He had a _body_ again. He gave a yelp—of excitement or fear, not even Vin could tell—and he scrambled to his feet.

------

All over the cities of Haven and Spargus, the Precursors' wave was doing its work.

And no one had a _clue_ as to what was going on. The Freedom League Headquarters was being besieged with calls. Ashelin and Torn, along with several others, were trying to field them all, as well as figure out what the _hell_ was happening. There was one person who might know, and Ashelin immediately sent out a call to her comm.

Half a world away, Jak and Daxter received an urgent call from Sig. Jak was unable to answer, knocked unconscious by the sheer _power_ of the energy that had flowed over the land, leaving Daxter to answer the comm and fumble out a reply to whatever it was Sig wanted to know.

All the Light Eco users on the _planet_ had been rendered insensible by the concussion of the eco blast. Seem and her monks in the Temple, Jak out in the Wasteland, an _elf_ by the name of Rheanon Llast out in Haven Forest, a blind potter called Aelyn Adalla in Haven City's Bazaar, the blind Seer, Onin, not far from that same pottery shop…

------

Up on the Precursor Mothership, the Green Sun that watched over Mar's world, Elder Rewaf carefully monitored the re-emergence of the once-dead elves, nodding in satisfaction.

"And now it's done," he breathed, giving a faint smile. "Well done, Granddaughter."

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	2. The Flash

**Disclaimers:**

The _Jak and Daxter _game series and all related elements _© Naughty Dog Incorporated_

Herz, Doe and Koe Hessian, Rall Hage/Hessian, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and most named KG _© Blu_

Rheanon and Seima Llast and most named Precursors _© Laina _

Rfena Veras, Azalea Mirithir, Giu Avaar, Keela Sevah, and Aelyn Adalla _© Taitai_

Veer Shurra, Melir Varhaden, Kisan Acheron, Emori Geel, Makao Lurish, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and Rune Thian _© Nashi _

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**Two: The Flash**

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It had started out as a normal day for a Haven City that was almost finished recovering.

But then came the Flash.

No one had known it was going to happen. People had been driving to work, putting groceries away in their remodeled kitchens, bargaining in the Bazaar. It had begun a _normal day_.

No one could explain why the beam came down. Right at noon, this line of white shot from the heavens and struck the earth. Some swear it came from the Green Sun.

Everyone was blinded. Even those inside, even those who were sure they were in a room without windows at that moment, saw the white. Some screamed, but couldn't be heard over the shock wave. Everyone was frightened. Everyone was thinking the same thing.

_Oh Mar, not again_.

Then the light faded and everyone was half afraid to open their eyes. They expected to see their city reduced, for the _third_ time, to smoldering rubble.

There was no ruin to be found this time. Just more people.

Everyone blinked.

Suddenly, for some, there was person next to them that they were sure hadn't been there before. The street was packed—crowded in every sector. There were twice as many people out.

Suddenly, for some, there were no more explosions. There were no more death bots. Their target was nowhere to be found.

Suddenly red was mingling with blue—both dented and both worn—and everyone just stared at each other, not knowing why.

Then someone called a name.

Someone began to cry and couldn't stop.

Suddenly people there was hugging and screaming and crying all at the same time. People rushed out of their houses to see what was going on. They ran out of their businesses. This only proved to add to the noise.

Half the street was overjoyed. The other half was confused as _hell_.

One man—young, not yet reaching twenty—was practically awoken by the uproar in the street. Blinking, he straightened, not even realizing until then that he'd been leaning on someone's front porch. Bewildered, he tried to remember when he'd dozed off. He remembered been tired off his feet, that he'd fought too long and needed rest, just like everyone else…but he wasn't tired now. There was no fatigue. The joints he remembered screaming at him what seemed like only moments before felt fine. _He_ felt fine.

Looking down he found his gun was still in his hand. He was still in his armor and it was still dirty as sin. For a moment he assumed this disorientation was the after affects of a healing—that they'd finally gotten some help out here for the wounded. Expecting the doctor was somewhere behind him to gain his thanks, he turned…and was dumbfounded.

Somehow he'd gotten back inside the walls. Somehow he'd gotten back into the slums.

Entire swarms of people stood behind him, yelling not from battle but from…Mar, he didn't know. Some people looked overjoyed while others looked like they had no clue what was going on. Obviously he sympathized with the latter. He nearly instantly recognized the red of his fellow soldiers in the throng, even spotting a few familiar faces. But there was also blue. He'd never seen KG issued armor in _blue_. Even the insignia was wrong…

He raised his free hand to scratch under his helmet. Instantly a buzzing sounded behind him.

Turning back around towards the door he'd awoken leaned against, he realized something rather embarrassing. He'd been leaning on the doorbell this entire time.

Well, he wasn't brought up to ding-dong ditch, so he stayed, prepared to explain to whoever lived there that he hadn't meant to bother them…

Inside, Doe Hessian was trying to get a rather hideous coffee stain out of her carpet when the door buzzed. That stupid flash—she'd already decided it was a power surge, nothing more. Just another one of life's little annoyances that she'd be sure to report to the district super promptly—had caught her off guard and she'd dropped the entire pot of coffee in surprise. And now she apparently had a guest. This was just peachy.

In no mood for chit-chatting, unless whoever was bothering her was willing to run out and grab her some bleach before they started running their mouth, the middle-aged woman stormed over and threw open the slab of wood that led to the porch.

"Can I help you?" was the snappish response she was prepared to bestow on the poor soul at her doorstep. She didn't get past "Ca—" before her throat tightened almost painfully. Dark, near black eyes widened to their limits and then welled with tears. Doe reached out with both hands, almost afraid to touch the person in front of her.

And for the life of him, Koe couldn't figure out what his mother was getting all emotional about, let alone why she was answering some slummer's door.

Her fingers just barely tapped the sides of his cheeks before he asked, "Mom?"

That simple, one word question apparently broke the floodgates.

Doe threw her arms around her boy and hugged him against her, not minding how his armor dug against her underarms or chest. Tears poured from her eyes, all the ones she'd saved being the 'strong' parent of the family. "Koe!" she sobbed. "Mar, Koe!" Ignoring the strap that connected her son's helmet around his chin, she pressed her face to his. "My baby. Oh _mein Junge_. _Mein schönes Kind_."

Koe was at a loss for words. It was rare if ever his mother lapsed back into her native language around him. It was rarer to see her cry. Awkwardly, he embraced her, not knowing what else he could do. "Mom, it's okay. I know you were worried…but I'm fine."

For some reason that just made her cry harder.

------

Across town, another man had opened his eyes. He was much older than Koe, his age a marvel in and of itself. Quietly, he looked around the crowded square; surely he wasn't mistaken in believing there hadn't been people here before.

The rubble was gone. The Dark Makers were gone. Even his Dozer was no where to be seen.

Sorely confused, he decided to try and find his way out of this rather strange predicament rationally. He'd simply have to find Jak. The warrior had to be close by. They would both benefit by regaining their bearings together. With that in mind, he began to scan the crowd.

To his dismay, only the common browns and reds of Haven topped most if not all the civilians around him. The sun-bleached green owned by Jak was nowhere to be found. Now he moved through the crowd, slowly, hoping that because of the young man stature, perhaps he was around after all and simply hidden by someone else.

Green flashed to his left and, with trained eyes, he locked onto it. It wasn't Jak's head, that was for sure, but he did know that shade of green. A little greyer now, perhaps. And, while it was not who he had initially been searching for, the owner of the hair was someone he definitely owed some thanks to.

"Precursors!" he swore, weaving faster, calling, "_Hage_? Rall Hage? Is that you?"

The man in question instantly stiffened. Then he turned, wearing an innocent smile that only lasted for a split second. Then, when pale blue eyes landed on him, Rall's expression slipped into astonishment.

"It _is_ you, Hage." Despite the strangeness of the last few moments, he found himself smiling. "Precursors blessed, I thought you were dead!"

The man in question continued to stare for a few more moments before returning the smile. "T-The same to you, Your Highness!" Rall replied, not believing what he was seeing.

"I was certain you'd fallen to Praxis, and I would never be able to thank you. I'm relieved I was wrong."

Rall swallowed thickly. Surely whatever had caused that light moments before had done some damage to his brain. This couldn't possibly be happening. Discreetly, he removed his glasses and gave them a quick rubbing against his shirt. When Rall replaced them, the illusion was still there. Almost weakly, he replied, "T-Thank—uh—thank me, M'lord?"

The man smiled wider. "You research was a great asset for my people in the Waste. It's saved many lives, including my own. So, thank you."

Rall was beginning to wonder if he was the only one hallucinating. Quite frankly, he should not be having this conversation right now. King Damas had been assumed dead for years after Praxis's reign began, but back then he'd been skeptical. Two years ago, however…there had been a body. King Damas had been pronounced officially deceased.

He should not be having this conversation!

Possibilities flooded the former scientist's mind. Perhaps, he thought, he was dead. That flash had killed him and he was meeting King Damas in…where ever it is that the Precursors send their creations when they passed away. That theory was quickly tossed aside simply from how the King had greeted him. Perhaps, then, he was simply hallucinating after all. A quick glance around ousted that idea as well. Several people were staring now, few murmuring between them, wondering who this strangely dressed, aged but not _old _man was.

Then someone screamed.

Both men turned to find a woman blubbering against the chest of…what looked like to be a Krimzon Guard. Rall was taken aback at this. Certainly all those horrible red uniforms had been destroyed!

The crowd was slowly falling into chaos out of confusion and the green-headed man was beginning to worry. Surely the rest of the city had been affected by this phenomena. How would his wife be faring…

Dammit, it was times like these he wished they could afford another personal communicator.

"Your Highness, I'm honored by your thanks." Now he was having to shout over the uproar in the crowd. "However, I'm afraid I should be returning home. I'm rather worried for my wife." Damas nodded in understanding. Rall then turned to leave, then thought better of it. "Highness, you are more than welcome to accompany me." Now he was being downright hopeful.

Though, if he could convince the older man to come with him, he could find out once and for all whether or not he was truly real. His wife would be sure set him straight if otherwise…

Damas smiled at the invitation and nodded again.

------

"Mein Herz, are you alright?"

Razer Gefahr took a step towards his husband, who was currently sprawled out across the ground face down and letting out a rather pitiful groan, then winced slightly. His whole leg stung with the motion, the mere shifting of his weight sending pins and needles across his skin. On top of that, his normally unnaturally sharp vision was swimming. The racer put a hand to his head, ignoring how much the simple action stung, and closed his green eyes in hopes that when he opened them the room would stop attempting to whirl around like that…

On the floor, Herz was wondering how he could still feel dizzy while he was pressed to the ground. "I-I think my whole body is asleep," he muttered against their carpet. And it felt like it too. His very breathing was uncomfortable.

Everything had happened so fast, how he'd gone from heading to the kitchen to start lunch to kissing floor was a little more than a blur. All he could remember was things going white, then all of the sudden his balance was shot and down he went like a ton of bricks.

Hadn't Razer said becoming a saturate meant _better_ balance? Floor snogging was _not_ what he'd signed up for here.

By then Razer had blinked away the last traces of his own shaky vision and found his footing was again stable. Now that the strange feeling was gone, he was able to kneel down and gather the younger man in his arms. Herz visibly winced at being touched.

"What in the world is wrong with you?" The veteran racer asked, obviously worried. "It feels as if your field has become chaotic again…"

Herz groaned at hearing that and, despite the slight sting it brought to the back of his skull, leaded his head back against his husband's chest in frustration.

The youngest Hessian had already gone through his eco field being all wacky once and decided in the process that it _sucked ass_. When Razer had first brought up the possibility of infusing Herz similarly to how he had been as a child, the younger man had been extremely excited. He hadn't known then how off he'd feel the first couple weeks after.

Razer had it easy. The Green Eco coursing through his body had been with him since he was eight. He even knew how to manipulate it to the most basic degrees in the form of force channeling. This was supposed to be used as means to heal but…well, he was Razer and as such had his own ideas for how to use his gift. He'd also found out recently that, because of the high levels of healers eco beneath his skin, his life was going to be prolonged quite a long time.

This was what had been the initial problem. It contradicted their first assumption, being that Herz would outlive his partner simply because of the age gap. Now it looked like it would be the other way around, and neither could have that…

So Razer towed his boyfriend up to the mountains and brought him back down with glowing green eyes.

It was only later that they decided the action could amount to a marriage ceremony…

It was also later that they hit some rather annoying road blocks concerning the eco in Herz's system and what it was trying to influence him to do. Well, he did start cleaning up after himself, so perhaps that was a plus.

And apparently his eco was now on the fritz _again_. Which, of course, was just freaking dandy.

But then the uncomfortability passed for him, just as it had for Razer. Herz found he could stand again without worries of prickly skin or toppling back down into an embrace with their apartment floor. This discovered, he set back to his original intent; some lunch.

Even though, you know, neither he nor his husband could really eat all that much. The price for green eyes was apparently one's appetite. Oh, and the ability to oversleep, while we're at it.

The boys were discussing the numerous possibilities for what had just happened in the living room while waiting for their bread to toast when Herz's comm. rang. The Havenite in question paused mid-explanation of what it meant for a body part to "fall asleep", seeing as Razer hadn't experienced such a sensation since way before puberty, to get up and fish the FLG-issued device out from between the couch cushions. He was surprised to see his home code flashing across the ID screen.

"Hey," he greeted whichever parental it was calling.

Not so much a surprise, it was his mother, Doe.

So much a surprise, she sounded like she was or had been crying.

Instantly the warning bells rang. "Mom? Mom, what's wrong? What happened?"

Razer wandered in after that, curious and worried. He eyed his partner, obviously wanting to know what was going on as well. Herz could only shrug while listening for some coherency in his mother's babbled sobs.

"Mom—Mom, calm down, I can't understand—Mom. _Mom_. Calm down and—who's back? I can't understand what you're trying to tell me. Please, just take a few deep breaths or—no, I—_Mom_."

This was getting progressively more disturbing to listen to. Doe was never one for tears, as far back as Herz could remember. Even after Koe, his older brother was killed, she had shed a whole of maybe…three tears. Of course she was heartbroken from losing her son, but she wasn't the type to cry…

Yet she was right now. Something was seriously _wrong_ with this call.

And Herz was getting absolutely _nowhere_. Doe was making no sense whatsoever. She was talking herself in a tight circle around whatever it was she wanted to share but never could quite get the words out.

Then he heard it—the someone who was apparently 'back'.

It was just one comment from the background that did it, but the second Herz heard it, he dropped his comm. in disbelief.

"**_Who are you talking to, Mom?_**"

Razer had to rush to catch his beloved before he once again plummeted to the ground, this time it from the shock of hearing his brother's voice for the first time in a decade.

------

Back in Haven, Damas had just learned far more than he had initially wanted to about how his former employee had been faring since his banishment. Rall had stayed rather upbeat the entire ride, trying not to show any of his fretting that had his gut in knots while he drove. While Rall chatted, Damas marveled at the city he used to rule as it sped by.

Now, while he couldn't pinpoint what had led to him standing in the square he and his old acquaintance were leaving in the dust, he quite clearly knew what he was doing before then.

Jak had activated his beacon and, as he had promised, Damas had come to his aid. Surely he could have sent some underling to save the young man, but he'd chosen not to. He wanted to care for the boy personally.

Never mind the vows he'd silently made to himself that he'd never set foot into Haven again…

Regardless, he _had_. And he had saved Jak. And they proceeded to drive over rubble pile after rubble pile…

Rubble piles that were no longer there.

As Damas watched the scenery now, it was obvious damage had been done to this city. Walls had cracks. Portions of some buildings had been repaired recently. There were still craters in the streets beneath the Zoomers that passed overhead. In the distance, the support towers that used to hold the Baron's fortress on high—a sight he could often see from his own lofty throne room—had yet to be rebuilt.

But this wasn't a city in the middle of a war. A city clearly _recovering_ from one, but that was all.

And while Damas drifted between Rall's somewhat forced, one-sided banter to his own muddled thoughts, it was apparent from the bits and pieces he got from his old colleague, that the Daystar War was a thing of the past.

…So where had his missing time gone? Between the night with Jak to…now?

Rall cut off mid-sentence—Damas couldn't be quite sure what he was going on about now, but he thought it had something to do with his son and razorblades—to breathe a sigh of relief. While the streets below were still rather crowded, his house seemed relatively unharmed. No windows broken or…actually, Rall had no clue what he should expect, but things at least _appeared _normal. The king seated beside him blinked once they were parked, however.

"This is your home?" Damas asked.

"Yes, M'lord," replied Rall, turning to give the much older man a warm smile. "It isn't much, but I find it very much to my liking." With that he exited the doorless vehicle and stood beside the four-seater until the present royalty did the same. He then ushered Damas over to the door.

"Now, I do not know how she will react," he added quietly to Damas as they stepped onto the porch, "but there will probably be some speculation. Do not pay it any mind." Hallucination or no, Rall would not have his king offended by his wife. Said king simply nodded.

Rall then stepped forward, unlocked the door and pushed it open with a greeting for his wife ready to leave his lips. He hadn't even gotten it wide enough to step through before the door was wrenched from his grip and thrown the rest of the way open. Two slim hands then gripped him tightly by his shoulders.

"Tell me I'm not insane," pleaded his wife, face tear-stained and frantic. "_Please_ tell me I'm _not_ insane!"

Rall blinked, now mildly afraid. Never, in the many years he'd spent by Doe's side, had he ever seen her in this condition. "…Dear?" he asked meekly.

"Y-You see him? You—You _do_ see him, right?" Now she was pointing behind her, presumably at the couch where whoever _he_ was sat. However, because of the difference in height between them, she was blocking the person from her shorter husband's view. "I-I'm not…I'm not _mad_ or something, am I?"

Rall gave a quick glance behind him at the King, finding the scenario rather reversed than what he had first hoped. If he was seeing His Highness... "Who, uh, who am I supposed to see, Doe?"

"_Koe_."

Rall moved his wife out of his way and drew in a sharp breath. The young man in question hand already risen from the couch and now stood in the mouth of the short hallway leading from the front door into the living room. Seeing him, armor and all, within his house made Rall's jaw go slack.

"Dad…" the eldest Hessian son said quietly. His expression was pure confusion. "Dad, what's going on?"

"_Please_, say you see him," whispered Doe, eyes clenched shut.

Rall swallowed then nodded, staring. "I-I see him."

His wife covered her face with her hands and let out a sob of relief.

------

"I will be driving, I assume," Razer more stated than inquired from where he sat on the couch, buckling his boots over his yellow slacks.

Herz gave one quick nod.

"…Will you _please _stop pacing?"

"I can't help it!" Cried the young man. "You're taking forever!" And he continued to pace.

"I am done."

Herz turned on his heel and began making wide arm motions towards the door leading to the garage "Then _let's go_." His husband rolled his eyes but quickly obeyed, hopping up to loop his arm around the younger man's waist then heading hurriedly for the door. He had it open and everything when the Havenite's comm., now relocated to his pocket, went off.

Instantly Herz spun away, pausing just outside the doorway and whipping the communicator out without even checking the ID before answering. "Hello?" asked frantically into the device. Razer leaned in as well.

"**We have an emergency**."

Both men blinked.

"_Torn_?" Herz nearly cried.

"**I'm flattered you remember my voice**," came the expected, deadpan reply. Then the commander switched back to business, the switch so fast it was known to make rookie's heads spin. "**You need to report to HQ as soon as possible**."

The near-black haired young man looked at his comm. like it had spouted a head. "Uh, _sir_, did you forget I was _fired_ by the Baroness almost over a year ago?"

"**You're officially rehired**."

"No thank you, I—"

"**Hessian, we _need_ you in Haven _today_**."

"Excuse me," Razer finally chimed in, "but Mein Herz does not _need_ to report to _anyon_—"

"**Let Razer drive; it'll cut the time in half**."

"I'm sorry, _Commander_, but I _refuse_!" Herz nearly bellowed. "I am _not_ one of your lap dogs anymore. Be_sides_, I'm heading to Haven for my own business and have no intent to do any errands for _you _or the Baroness during my stay. My brother has apparently come home."

"**Yeah, your brother and everyone else, kid**."

Again both men blinked.

"**It's chaos over here, Hessian. We just fished Praxis out of the dumpster. We need your help. Let Razer drive**."

------


	3. Confusing

**Disclaimers:**

The _Jak and Daxter _game series and all related elements _© Naughty Dog Incorporated_

Herz, Doe and Koe Hessian, Rall Hage/Hessian, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and most named KG _© Blu_

Rheanon and Seima Llast and most named Precursors _© Laina _

Rfena Veras, Azalea Mirithir, Giu Avaar, Keela Sevah, and Aelyn Adalla _© Taitai_

Veer Shurra, Melir Varhaden, Kisan Acheron, Emori Geel, Makao Lurish, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and Rune Thian _© Nashi _

------

**Three: Confusing**

------

It really wasn't a surprise that it was Veer who found him, but the fact that he was out there to be found at all was more than a little unnerving. No, that wasn't it. There were people found out in the Wasteland on and off, so finding someone out there wasn't a big deal. It was the fact that when Veer found him, he was walking along over the scalding-hot sand—with his blue-on-yellow jacket off, held by two fingers slung over his shoulder, white undershirt damp with sweat and clinging to his grey-tattooed chest like a second skin—looking as though he hadn't a care in the world.

Either the sun had gotten to his head and he didn't even realize that he was wandering around in one of the most forbidding lands on the planet during one of the hottest hours of the day, or he really didn't care.

From the gleam in his yellow eyes when Veer slid his car to a stop just in front of the man, the Wastelander was prone to believe the latter.

With a quick check of his scanner—no, the man held neither beacon nor artifact on his person—Veer rose up in his seat to lean a dark arm on the rollbar and brush back a long blue-to-blond braid over his shoulder.

"Mind tellin' me what yer doin' out here?"

The man paused, orange eyebrows jutting downward as though in thought, then shrugged his military-marked shoulders. "No idea whatsoever." His accent was vaguely familiar, and when its origin came to him Veer wondered what a Havenite noble was doing wandering the desert in the middle of the day. "Would I be able to coerce you into giving me a ride to…wherever it is you dock your car?"

Precursors, he looked familiar. Something about the color of his hair, maybe… Veer shook his head and nodded back toward the passenger-side seat of his Dust Demon. "Hop in, I'll ferry yah someplace where y'can get some water."

The man climbed in, settling easily into the seat, and gave a long sigh of relief, greyed eyelids dropping down over too-yellow eyes. "I appreciate this…what was your name again?"

"Didn't give it," the larger man replied. "But it's Veer Shurra. You?"

The man opened his mouth to speak, then let out a sigh and shook his head. "I really don't think it's important right now. My head's a mess, anyway, I might end up giving you the wrong name."

He didn't look like his head was a mess, but Veer kept his mouth shut and started off across the sand back toward Spargus. If anyone, Sig would know what to do.

The man leaned his head back as the wind rushed over his face, sand biting into his skin when Veer turned or slowed down, kicking up a mess from the dunes.

He had been walking for probably about an hour, maybe a little less, without a clue as to why or how he had ended up here. Quite honestly, Erol had no clue what he was going on. He remembered racing Jak. Losing. Doing something horribly stupid that, had he been in his right mind, he never would have even considered a possibility as far as retaliation went.

Then a flash of violet light, heat and cold and electricity, and a cage.

It had felt like a cage, anyway. But it had moved with him, breathed with him, spoken in his tone if not his voice—the words were all a mess of elongated sounds and distortions, nothing he could possibly make out even with his head so crystal clear as it was now.

And it _was_ clear. Clean and crisp in thoughts and memories, save for the mess of cacophony and color that took hold of his thoughts after the explosion. Everything else was simple, understandable…_lucid_.

For the first time in years, more years than he could possibly know, Erol Osadus felt _sane_.

He wasn't sure he liked it.

------

Praxis, like his subordinate far away in the desert, was confused. In fact, he was more than confused, he was appalled. What in the world was a unit of his Krimzon Guards doing dressed in _blue_? And why had his family crest been supplanted by some meaningless stamp of yellow and ivory?

The fact that his vision was clear enough to read said symbol should have sent some sort of alert to his brain, but at the moment he was simply too taken aback to notice.

"Unhand me!" he growled, jerking away from the off-colored gauntlets attempting to take hold of his arms. "What the hell is going on here?!"

"We have orders to bring you in," replied the closest of the Guards, his voice oddly young for the sergeant rank etched into his shoulderplate. There hadn't been a sergeant under twenty since the fight in Dead Town, but this young man sounded distinctly like a teenager. "Get moving."

The butt of a rifle slammed into Praxis' back and he opened his mouth to spit something, some harsh retort or command, but didn't manage to get out a sound before the sergeant in front of him spoke again.

In his hands the young man held a set of handcuffs, the type Praxis had used on the prisoners involved in the Dark Warrior program—large enough to cover the entire forearm, bound together in three separate places by lines of Precursor Metal. The sergeant nodded to the corporal with his gun between Praxis' shoulderblades, and in split second the blue-armored guard had spun his blaster, pressing the barrel to the older man's back with the telltale whine of a charge being set into motion.

"Commander Torn's given us orders to use force if necessary," the sergeant said, holding up the cuffs and gesturing for Praxis to hold out both arms so he could put the device into place. "So, by all means, make it necessary." His mouth curved in a smirk. "Please. It would _completely_ make my day."

Praxis blinked, eyes widening—he still didn't seem to have come to the realization that he had _both_ of them—in a mingling of shock and anger. "…_Commander_ Torn?"

------

When Jak woke up, it was to the familiar scratch of a voice over his comm., and with one hell of a headache pounding away behind his eyes. He let out a groan and held a hand to his head, the very motion stinging like he couldn't believe, and ground his teeth in an attempt to keep from hissing in pain.

The next voice that registered in his hearing wasn't filtered through a communicator, but certainly just as familiar—moreso, even—as the one hazed by static. "…No, he's still—wait—oh thank _god_, Jak, I was worried sick!" Daxter leapt over from his place about a foot from the hero's head with the older man's comm. in his furry hand. "There was this flash an' then everythin' felt funny, an' I got a really bad headache for 'bout a second an' a half, an' then _you_ just totally _zonked_."

Jak sat up slowly, the stinging sensation running over his skin slowly abating, though the headache appeared to want to stay for a while.

"Sig said he'd be sendin' an envoy t'come pick us up after he called an' you were still TKO, but 'parently there's some psycho crap goin' down back home so he said it might take a while."

Jak gave a dry cough and pointed to the comm. "Torn?"

Daxter nodded and held out the device; Jak took it without another word. "Jak," he said in greeting. "What's going on? You never call my Wasteland comm."

"**I wouldn't have _had_ to if you hadn't apparently left your FLG-issue one behind when you went out in the desert,**" the Commander replied gruffly from far-off Haven City. "**Look, we need you back in Haven ASAP—it's crazy over here, and we need all the resources we have to be available if anything goes wrong. I've got Hessian on his way back from Kras, and any FLG who were on leave have officially had their free time revoked. We _need_ you back here, Jak.**"

"I'll be there when I can," Jak said, wondering what in the world could have happened to have convinced Herz to come back from Kras. Last Jak had seen him, the kid was pretty well settled in the decision to not be leaving Razer's apartment for any excessive amount of time if it could possibly be avoided.

Daxter made a face at the mention of the courier, eyes narrowing just slightly and expression shifting to one of anger-riddled guilt, but Jak didn't see it.

"But," the blond continued, "I'd really like to get back to Spargus and see what Sig was talking about firs—"

"**Fine, you do that. See if you can't drop by for a visit to that monk friend of yours—Onin's granddaughter, whatever her name is—and ask if she has any clue what's going on."**

Jak blinked. "If you don't mind my asking, what _is_ going on?"

A moment of silence passed. "**Basically, pandemonium.**** Praxis is being brought in after being found on the street raving like a lunatic about what's been done to the city. There are Krimzon Guards all over the place, not to mention a decent amount of Freedom League that went MIA or _worse_ back when Errol was still around. Vin showed up about twenty minutes ago and is currently pacing around Ashelin's office like he wants to dig a trench in the floor with his feet.**"

Jak opened his mouth to speak, interject between one sentence and the next, but again Torn cut him off.

"**Yes, I said pacing. Vin's back. And apparently Hessian's dead brother just came home, too.**" Another short pause, this one bridged with a heavy sigh. "**Do me a favor and run a quick check over in Spargus and see if anyone's turned up there that shouldn't be breathing anymore; I'll get a proper governmental correspondence sent over to Sig whenever the hell Hessian shows up to ferry it over.**"

"Torn," Jak said, reaching up to rub at the bridge of his nose, begging for this headache to go away already, "do you have any idea how completely crazy this sounds?"

"**Wait until you've seen it to talk about crazy.**"

------

Damas, understanding that there was some sort of madness going on in Haven City in general, had come to the decision that this probably wasn't the best time for him to take a walk through it. Nevertheless, he had also come to the decision, after being rather awkwardly reintroduced to Doe Hessian—though the Wasteland king had been given no explanation for the difference in name he could make several assumptions that were at least close to the truth—that now was probably not a good time to be imposing himself on the Hage-turned-Hessian household.

So he had excused himself, quietly and with a promise to return within the hour, to walk the back alleys and broken roads of the city of his birth. Precursors, it had been forever…

He had sworn not to come back here, even if he could. He had promised himself, promised his wife, promised his _son_ that he would never return to this place. He had a home and a life in the desert, a solace from the war-wrought betrayal that had become everyday by the time he was banished to the Wasteland.

Ironic—the Wasteland had become his haven, and Haven had become the greatest of wastes.

He kept a leisurely pace through the streets, picking his way around craters and stepping over upheavals in the stone, wondering how in the world Praxis has let it get this bad. This had been a war zone, certainly, but if the Baron had cared half as much for the city as he had claimed when he shoved Damas out of the transport years upon years ago, he would never have condemned his people to living in such squalor.

It was almost sickening to see someone like Rall Hage, a man so brilliant it had _burned_ the other scientists he worked with, reduced to living in little more than a shack…

But at least he was alive. Life in a shack was far more than Damas had thought Rall's future held after Praxis' betrayal. Idly, he wondered if any of the other researchers had survived this long, wondered what they were doing now.

He wondered if any of them had a hand in the kidnapping of his son for use in experiments.

He stopped, deep violet eyes narrowing. Where had _that_ come from? Mar had been taken, certainly, but it had never even crossed the aged king's mind in the past that it was for something so twisted. So why had it come to him now?

Damas closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to find the memory that had triggered that thought; he found, amid the haze that were his couple hours before waking up in a place that should have been a battlefield, a muffled pair of voices. Admissions, shouting, a tone laced with laughter…

"_I **took **__you from Damas."_

He ground his teeth. That voice was familiar, but the memory it linked to was nothing but muffled sound, a whisper from far away. As though he had heard it as he was falling asleep.

What had happened before that? He couldn't for the life of him remember. He had been with Jak, having broken a promise made to his birth son in order to keep a promise made to a young man who had become the closest thing to a child Damas was ever going to have again. They had been driving. Fighting. Shooting. There were explosions, the telltale distortion of sound that heralded a Dark Precursor robot flickering into existence…

Then nothing.

Then the faint voices.

Why couldn't he remember what had led him to the point where he had heard the chokingly familiar voice? He was going to go mad if he dwelled on this much longer.

So, rather than follow the path of the man who had once been his advisor, Damas took once again to looking around. There were guards about, but they were anything but crimson anymore. Instead their armor was coated in a simple, calm blue.

With a faint smile, the man gave a light nod to the guard walking past him, silently giving his approval to whoever it was in charge of this city now for the change in hue. Blue was a safe color, open and clear as the sky or the sea. Not like red, the scarlet of blood and beatings and explosions, of eco that burned when it touched the skin. Blue was motion, the energy that kept the city operational, the crisp electricity that flashed in the sky during a cleansing rain.

Sirei's eyes had been blue, the shade more dominant that Damas' own violet. As a result, Mar's eyes had been blue as well. So were Jak's, come to think of it.

Damas liked the color blue. Very much.

It made him feel much better to see men patrolling the streets clad in the color of the sky than the color of blood, and with this thought in mind he continued on his walk, tilting his head back slightly to look up into the clouds.

------

"A-And if I'm alive, properly, completely, whatever, and _Praxis_ is also alive, then h-he's gonna kill me! Just have me torn to little bits, like—like Blue Eco-charged _ribbons_! I don't wanna be ribbons, Ashelin!"

The baroness held both hands to her head, elbows leaned on her desk and fingers buried deep in her tightly-braided red hair. "You're not going to be made into ribbons, Vin," she assured the man for the fifth or sixth time in the last hour and a half. "That is, unless you don't pipe _down_ a little and let me _think_ for _five minutes_!"

The last part was spoken with more than enough venom to send the jumpy Precurian expert into a whole new kind of fit.

"Oh, so now _you're_ gonna turn me into ribbons?!" Vin cried, throwing both pale arms up into the air. "Thanks Ashelin, I-I _really_ appreciate that, considering _all_ I've done for you since I _met_ you and all the stuff I _kept_ doing for you even after I'd _died_—"

"All right!" Ashelin snapped back, clenching her hands into fists and slamming both down hard on her desk as she shot to her feet. "Sorry, okay?! But if you aren't going to help me then I'd appreciate if you'd at least step out of my office long enough for me to find someone who _can_!"

A moment of silence passed; Vin reached up to pull his goggles up to his hairline, pale blue-white eyebrows jutting downward in thought. Suddenly, his eco-bright blue eyes snapped to meet Ashelin's green, and the man blinked. "Have you called Rheanon yet?"

Ashelin blinked as well. "What?"

"Rheanon. You know, white hair, big eyes, more knowledge of the weird and unexplainable than pretty much anyone else on the planet? Rheanon Llast?"

"Of _course_ I've tried calling her." The woman sat back down, slumping back in her chair with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. "This has Precursors written all over it. She just has her comm. turned off. I think."

Vin thought for a moment. "Is her comm. FLG-issued?"

"Yes, Vin, _why_ is this important?"

The man gave her a Look. "_Because_, Baroness, if you can get the serial number and her frequency code, we can turn it on from any control panel at HQ."

The redhead stared for a minute, wondering why in the hell she hadn't thought of that—all the FLG-issued comm. units had a perpetual energy source running in the background to allow a commanding officer in need of backup to get a hold of his men at any time of day through a simple system here at the headquarters.

Ashelin held a hand to her face, feeling very much the idiot, and heaved a sigh. "I honestly don't know what I'd do without you, Vin. Really."

Vin smiled. "Anything I can do to help."

The baroness rose from her seat and made her way over to the control panel set into one wall, Vin moving to meet her there, and—with a little coaching from the expert, seeing as Ashelin had never actually resorted to this before—they went to work triggering the minor power surge in Rheanon's comm. to bring the device up to working order.

Imagine their surprise when they found it was already on.

Confused glances were exchanged, and then Ashelin pulled the microphone and headset from its place hanging just to one side of the control panel and slipped it on, setting the frequency and dialing in before she spoke.

"Rheanon? Are you there?" After a second without a reply, Ashelin's eyes narrowed slightly. The young Precurian she was currently trying to reach was known for her dislike for staying in the city, spending most of her time out in the Wasteland with Jak and the monks or hiding out in the forest doing…something. Hell if anyone knew what a Precursor-turned-elf liked to do in her spare time.

Ashelin happened to know for a fact that the young woman was in the general Haven area now, though, having gotten word from Torn that she had contacted him the day before asking if there was anything he needed her help with as far as cleanup went.

"Rheanon," the redhead's voice was firm this time, bordering on exasperated. "Rheanon, I _know_ your comm. is on, _please_ respond."

Nothing.

There were very few people that would be able to figure out what was going on here—one was Onin, who Pecker had claimed jerked and then just seemed to fall asleep around the time the Flash had come down, and had yet to wake up. Another was Seem, the soothsayer's granddaughter off in the Waste, who Torn had already dispatched Jak to attempt contacting. There were rumors of a potter down in the bazaar with abilities similar to Onin's, though they seemed to be far less obvious and considerably more sporadic judging by the fact that his name and trade were spoken commonly for weeks, then faded out of the public voice again for months at a time, but as Ashelin had never met the man she had no reason to trust any explanation he would give her for this mess.

That left Rheanon.

"Rhea," it was a rare thing that she used the diminutive of the girl's name, keeping it in savings for times she especially needed her attention or when she wasn't likely to see her again. This…might have been a bit of both. "This is an emergency—wherever the hell you are, get back to HQ _now_."

------

Koe Hessian was very, _very_ confused.

Nothing made sense.

First, Krimzon Guards dressed in blue. The name was "Krimzon" for a reason, Koe knew—according to his father it had been degraded from "Crimson" in reference to the Red Sage, who had in fact been one of the first in the force, serving as bodyguard to Mar himself.

Secondly, and just as confusing, was the living state of his parents. That is, the fact that they apparently lived in the slums again. When he had left, two days ago, was it? Less? It might have only been this morning. The battle out in Old Sandover, the Temple District, had blurred together until he couldn't be sure… In any case, when last he saw his family they were living quite contentedly in one of the better districts of the city. He had enlisted in the KG for a _reason_, thank you, and that was to allow his family a better life. To give Herz a better place to grow up, to let him go to school and learn things other than the psychobabble their father went on about day after day.

And speaking of Herz, his inclusion so far in this confusion was another bout of senselessness. Doe had called someone earlier, when she was still in tears and stammering every other word, and when Rall asked about Herz she had replied that he was on his way over. That had been almost two _hours_ ago. Where in the world could the kid be that it took him that long to get home and neither Doe nor Rall were worried? Koe, already on-edge by the sheer lack of coherence in the world at large, was made even more jumpy by the fact that his kid brother had apparently been on his way home for a good hundred minutes and had yet to show a single dark green hair on his head.

In his waiting, the young KG had shed his breastplate, helmet, and shoulderplates, the armor too bulky to keep on when he was constantly getting fawned over by _both_ parents—which was weird as hell in and of itself, Koe hadn't known his mother could fawn over anything—and was currently sitting nervously on the couch. He had been trying for quite some time now to sort things out, and found himself completely failing.

There were more things that were wrong, too. Koe Hessian, unlike his dear little brother, had inherited his father's ability to notice things. Minor, simple things that no one else would really think about, but that were more than likely some of the most important details of all.

The fine lines around his mother's eyes and mouth, which he couldn't remember being there. The streaks of grey through his father's hair, also new. The blatantly weatherworn air they both carried when they walked or spoke. One of the more obvious changes was that Rall had finally let his hair grow out of the brown dye it had worn for almost as long as Koe could remember. For the first time since Koe was very small, his father's hair was pale green.

It was beginning to feel and look to Koe as though he'd lost a year or two somewhere along the road between Old Sandover and here.

He reached up to rake a gloved—and gauntleted, it was too much work to get the things on and off for him to chance taking them off until he was sure he wouldn't be called back to work—hand through his grass-green hair, grey-tattooed eyelids slipping halfway over his dark eyes as he let out a long breath in an attempt to calm himself down.

"Are you sure you can't tell me what's going on?" He asked for what felt like the hundredth time since he found himself on his mother's doorstep.

Doe took her own steadying breath and gave a bright smile, sharpening the lines around her mouth that Koe didn't recognize. "Not until Herz is here."

Rall nodded in agreement from his place on the couch beside his firstborn. "I think the whole family should be here for this, son." A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth, his pale eyes sparkling. "This is all just too insane, too _fantastic_, to try going through more than once."

"Herz sure is taking a long time, though," the teen muttered, casting his eyes to the floor again, brow furrowing. He looked back to his father. "Where is he, anyway?"

The pale-haired man exchanged a glance with his wife, then opened his mouth to speak—but cut off when, at that very moment, the door burst open. All three Hessians turned, but only Koe wore an expression of confusion upon seeing the two figures in the doorway.

The first, with his hand still braced on the door itself, was a young man—probably a little older than Koe, but it was hard to tell—with dark skin and darker hair, and eyes so bright green it didn't seem possible. The hand that hung at his side shook slightly, his breath caught in his throat as he stared at the young Hessian in apparent shock.

The other, the same height as the first but significantly less tense in his stance, was older by a good couple years, at least; he had darker hair, black as Doe's, but skin a shade or two _paler_ than hers and the same insanely green eyes as his companion. He seemed far less shaken, standing within reach of the dark-skinned man with his arms folded, bizarre twists of blue visible on his bare shoulders and covering one hand in its entirety.

It was the first that commanded Koe's attention, though, regardless of the strange marks on the second. There was something about the younger man that was almost achingly familiar to Koe, the recollection so close it made his head spin to try to catch it. He was _sure_ he'd remember someone with eyes like that. Positive.

He _couldn't_ remember seeing those eyes before. It was something else he recognized, something he couldn't quite name. Something he knew he should have known but somehow just _didn't_.

The more shaken of the two strangers just stared for a long second, blinked several times, his mouth working wordlessly for several tense seconds.

"D-Dear Makers…" he choked at last. "K-K—_Koe_!"

Koe just blinked, and within a second—long enough for a hurried series of steps and the grabbing of one arm—found himself pulled into the strange young man's arms.

------


	4. Awakening

**Disclaimers:**

The _Jak and Daxter _game series and all related elements _© Naughty Dog Incorporated_

Herz, Doe and Koe Hessian, Rall Hage/Hessian, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and most named KG _© Blu_

Rheanon and Seima Llast and most named Precursors _© Laina_

Rfena Veras, Azalea Mirithir, Giu Avaar, Keela Sevah, and Aelyn Adalla _© Taitai_

Veer Shurra, Melir Varhaden, Kisan Acheron, Emori Geel, Makao Lurish, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and Rune Thian _© Nashi_

------

**Four: Awakening**

------

She hurt. Terribly. To the point where she wanted nothing more than to lay on the grass and _breathe_. There was a peculiar buzzing noise in her ears, one that she usually identified with her comm., but she couldn't quite recall if that made any sense through the haze of pain sanding its way over her brain. Had she left her comm. on?

…Why was she asking herself that? She _always_ had her comm. on. Pun less than intended, it was common sense, and it made it easier to move between cities knowing that someone could reach her if they had to.

She tried moving, inching her arm out from its cramped position under her body, and hissed at the pins and needles sensation that flooded through her. That wasn't quite pain, but it was only the herald—as soon as the phantom sensation faded, a sharp lancing _death_ rushed through her from fingertips to shoulder. She grit her teeth and went rigid, giving it up as a lost cause, and lying still again.

Rheanon Llast, Precursor-turned-elf, was most certainly _not_ having a good day. She couldn't even lift her head right now without giving—at the very least—a strained whimper.

There had been no more than two instances in her entire life—which was an impressive amount when compared to most other people on this little planet she had come to call home—that she had hurt this much. One had been shortly after her transformation to elf. That hadn't lasted more than a day or so, and even then she could shift positions without wanting to scream. The other had been that first timeslide back to the era before Mar, and though it had been extremely traumatic she could at least place where the pain _came from_. At that point her chest had been torn open from the left side of her collarbone down to her right hip—that was pain she understood. Blood brought pain, pain brought blood, it made sense.

There was no blood this time, just pain. Pain summoned by that great and glorious light, the light that had made her throw back her head and howl, eyes blind with agony and glowing with a blinding brightness at the same time.

What had happened?

She lay there for several minutes more, waiting until the burning that flared when she breathed or her heart beat abated, and then moved in a rush. One pale hand slammed down on the grass and pushed with all the force she could muster, the other curling against her chest as she managed to propel herself up onto her side, and then roll onto her back. Then she looked up through the trees, breath heaving and eyes stinging, throat sore and hoarse—and, High Creators, what had _happened_ to make her _hurt_ this much?

The ringing that had shrieked through her ears when she moved quieted as she lay there, and she realized that whoever had been talking to her through her comm. had fallen silent. That was bad—she had heard a definitive edge to that voice, and even if she'd been in too much pain to understand the words being spoken she could tell when someone was on the verge of pleading.

She cast her deep orange eyes from left to right, gauging the position of the sun. After gathering that she had been unconscious for about an hour and a half, Rheanon closed her eyes again—not from exhaustion, though the lancing and burning under her skin was wearing her down again, but to allow herself uninterrupted thought.

Her eyes flickered steadily, white eyebrows furrowing slightly as a recollection finally surfaced—ghostly and faint though the vision was, she remembered what had happened, and not from ground-level. This memory wasn't even planetside.

"…Stupid, stupid rat creatures," she ground out after a moment, her voice hoarser than she'd though it would be. "And stupid, stupid _me!_ Light, I should have remembered this! I should have warned everyone!"

The question that occupied her mind was a simple one: Why? _Why_ had she not remembered? Her amnesiac days were over, had been over since the Daystar War ended, when the Precursor Leader Rewaf, her _grandfather_, restored her memories at last. Surely he'd restored _all_ of them—what reason could he have not to?

She pushed the question to the back of her mind, as it had no current answer, and instead focused on what had just happened, not from the Precurian view—which had been draining, not painful—but from her own, current memory.

After a moment of thinking, she thanked whatever High Creators could hear her that the flash hadn't been even a moment later. She had been preparing to take to the air, and the resulting fall from the sky could very well have killed her.

…Well, it _might_ have killed her. That was a highly concentrated amount of Light Eco, and her body's natural reaction to deadly wounds and unconsciousness would have been to force a healing. Which could have been _worse_, actually—an over-concentration of any type of eco was a bad thing even for a core saturate to suffer through. All things considered, she was glad to have been on the ground when the flash hit.

Now if only she could reach her comm. Or, even better, learn who the heck was trying to get in touch with her without having to move, and maybe find out if what they wanted could _wait_ until she managed to stop hurting quite so much.

A latent thought hit her. If _she_ had been affected enough to pass out and be in _this_ much pain, then what had happened to the others? Jak, Seem, Onin, Aelyn…were they all right? Now she had to get to her comm., if only to learn the answer to that question.

Which of course brought up the question of where her comm. was. She could hear it, so it couldn't be that far away, but it wasn't in her hand or in her pouch—

Of course it wasn't in her pouch. She'd accidentally left her pouch back in the Waste when she headed out a couple days ago, and she had been kicking herself about it earlier, but hadn't the patience at the time to hop on another four-hour flight back to Spargus to get it. That meant that her Wasteland communications were completely cut off, so there would be no contacting Sig for information, or calling Seem to check on her.

Irritated at her own forgetfulness but no longer completely overwhelmed with pain, Rhea attempted to lever herself to her feet to locate her FLG comm. In retrospect, she should have known that was a bad idea. She had always been a little too impatient for her own good, hadn't she?

The petite young woman didn't even make it properly to her hands and knees before her vision blanked out, eyes flashing white again as the eco in her struggled to kill the renewed pain and managed only to make it worse, singeing the invisible channeling lines running through her body. She jerked and gave a ragged cry, and then blacked out and fell again.

------

Sig sighed and cut the communication he had been trying to establish for the last hour. He had spoken with Jak, as well as a couple monks in the Temple—Makao, one of the few monks Seem had assigned to keep permanent residence in the city to serve as a local counselor, had actually come up to speak with him in person mere moments before the Flash—but none of them could give him any more information than what he had already gathered.

The madness and chaos that had been struggling to take root here in the city—even after two years as King it still couldn't really be called _his_ city—could only be traced to something Precurian in nature. What, he couldn't say. He couldn't even _guess_.

That point was definitely proven by the fact that an instant before the world flared white for a long second, Makao had moved over to the window and started at the Green Sun with narrowed eyes, sensing something was off. Then the Flash hit, and men and women long dead, some clad in armor of trademarked—defunct—crimson, appeared out of nowhere.

Which led to what Sig was facing right now. There was no one here as yet, Makao had left a while ago to help keep things under control down below, but Sig had requested that all the "new arrivals" be brought up one at a time so he could give them a quick look before sending them back down to be placed under guard.

The dark-skinned Wastelander shook his head once again, and set the comm. aside. He'd try again in another hour or so, after he'd had a chance to see the better part of the strangers that had appeared here through some divine machinations.

Not all of them were strangers, though, and that was a problem. Earlier, Sig had received a communication from Veer, a quick message that the barely-younger Wastelander had picked up a man in the desert who had all but outright refused to give his name. From the description, though, it was hard not to recognize the former KG Commander, particularly after all Sig's years as Damas' spy in Haven.

He was unarmed and unprotected, so holding him wouldn't pose much of a problem, but that wasn't what set the Wasteland King on-edge. Even the fact that Erol was alive couldn't be that much of a surprise—Sig had always assumed, deep down, that the bastard would come back to bite them again someday. Rather, it was the fact that Sig had never known a time when Erol had appeared to have all his Leapers in one pen, but Veer was saying otherwise.

To be told by one of his most trusted subordinates that one of the most psychotic men on the planet was sleeping in the passenger seat of the Dust Demon and hadn't made any move to do anything dangerous to anything, much less anything _insane_, was more than mildly unnerving.

But judging by the behavior Veer had given correspondence of, it seemed that Erol was a least a _little_ confused as to these recent events himself. If the things in the former Commander's head had been somehow set _right_ by that light, as Sig was privately thinking, then there was no way to properly judge the man's reactions. There was no doubt that Erol could cause more than enough trouble if he set his mind to it when he was mad, so the thought of him turning that wit on others when he was completely lucid was not a pleasant one.

Sig rather hoped he wouldn't. As much as he disliked the man, he wanted to hand Erol over to someone who knew him better. Ashelin would be good, but Torn was preferable. Both would be best, he figured. They would hopefully understand the strange calm Veer had described, considering they had both known him for a good long time—Torn longer than most, maybe longer than anyone still alive out there.

…Or maybe not, considering recent events.

Once again, the Wasteland King missed his former leader. Damas would have been better for this. But then, His Lordship…The one-eyed man paused in thought, a frown creasing his face.

If Erol was back, and judging from reports that had cascaded in from around the city, the population of Spargus had just gained an extra quarter or so, including a handful of Krimzon Guards in full armor, then perhaps—if there was just a small amount of luck—Damas would have returned as well.

The creaking of the elevator warned him of someone approaching, probably the first of the new arrivals. He took a deep breath, sat up straight, and assumed what Daxter had once dubbed his _kingly mask_—a look of cool professionalism that gave no clue as to Sig's _real_ thoughts on any matter. Whatever else happened, he was still currently the Wastelander King, and he had act as such.

Nevertheless, a part of him was praying and pleading that Damas was back. Even if he had missed the last two years, he could still inevitably do better in this situation than Sig would. It was in his blood, in his upbringing, in every fiber of his being. Even Jak, whether he had been born as Prince Mar or not, couldn't live up to his father's reputation.

They _needed_ Damas for this.

Sig could only do his best and hope that, eventually, the elevator would bring the white-haired man up to reclaim his throne.

------

Even though she'd never seen them before they started changing, Kisan knew her parents on sight. She could have been blind—she'd been born pretty much half-blind anyway—and would have known them. The air around them still felt the same, still smelled the same. Mostly. There was a tang around her father that she didn't quite recognize, but he was still himself, so it didn't bother her much.

There wasn't much that could bother her at all right now. She could breathe just fine, she could move without her joints hurting, and when she looked at things they looked…different. Her left eye, black and blind in light from the day she was born, was actually _useful_ now. Her eyes matched, both the same brown-tinted scarlet, and she could see.

Depth perception was something new, and with it came an understanding of why she always ran into things when she didn't have someone to hold her hand and guide her around. She rather liked knowing how far away something was just by _looking_ at it, even if it was an entirely new skill. If most people were born like this, it was no wonder she always felt so clumsy around her parents.

She still felt clumsy looking at her father, though. Gol had always preferred flying to walking, and Kisan thought she understood why now.

She had always though he was big, bigger than her at least, but now things were very different. Now, for the short time he had spent on the ground, she knew that while he was still bigger than her, it wasn't by much. Gol was very small, barely taller than his daughter and no broader in build at all.

It made her happy, for some reason, to finally see just how much she had grown to take after him. It had been a long time since she could compare herself to her blood-family.

Kisan had lived for seven years without her parents. She remembered being gathered up in the arms of Nursie—a Lurker that her father had taught specially to care for her when he and Maia were away—and being carried off to live with the female not-beast's people for whatever remained of her life. She remembered clinging to the thick, warm fur on the creatures arms and around her neck, and stuttering out a question, asking what had happened to her parents.

Nursie couldn't talk. Not like Kisan and her parents could, at least. But Kisan herself had never been very good with talking herself, so she understood the backward look Nursie gave her parents' Silo, the center of all their research, and the almost pained look in her fire-bright eyes.

Kisan's parents had been lost.

It had been seven years since then, that Kisan could remember, and while those years had been good she was still overjoyed to be with her parents again. She was going to miss Nursie and Isshi and the other Lurkers that had taken care of her, but…

She looked at Gol, flitting around in the air like a bird, darting around pillars and stone rafters and looking for all the world like he'd never been healthier in his life.

She smiled. Nothing could really compare, could it?

"Kisan," a smooth voice murmured behind her. A pale, slender hand came down on her shoulder, and the girl turned to look back at her mother, into her red-brown eyes. "Watch where you put your feet, Daughter," Maia said, pulling the girl back a little.

She gave a look forward and saw that, depth perception or no, she had been about to run into a massive hunk of stone that probably came from the broken pillar not far behind her.

"S-Sorry," she answered, smiling back up—Maia was bigger than Gol, and therefore significantly bigger than Kisan—at her mother. "I-I was wuh-watching D-Duh-Daddy." She turned and pointed up at where he had stopped to hover, leaning both hands and his forehead against one of the few massive pillars still standing. "He—He f-flies better nuh-now."

Maia smiled as well, though it wasn't without a shadow, and looked up at her elder brother. "He does. He's breathing much better now, too."

"And hearing!" Gol called down to them, grinning broadly as he pushed off the stone and flew back down to join his family on the ground. He didn't quite touch down, though, staying several inches up to be at Maia's eye-level. "It's an odd twist of fate, but I'm certainly not complaining."

Shadows fled from Maia's smile and she held out a hand to take one of Gol's, interlocking their fingers. "Neither am I."

Kisan just looked at them for a long moment, feeling so happy to see them happy, to be together after so long, that she felt her heart would burst. She definitely wasn't complaining either.

"So, did you find anything?" Maia asked, tilting her head slightly—the faint firelight from the flickering braziers on the walls glinting off her platinum-gold hair, turning the deep scarlet ends bright orange in a way that Kisan had never forgotten, even when she wasn't sure what her mother's face looked like—and arching both eyebrows in inquiry.

Gol nodded, his hair whipping around in a way that Kisan had never seen, because it had been almost white and coarse by the time she could remember him, not the thick dark gold it was now. He had definitely changed the most.

"I believe we're in a basement of some sort. Catacombs, perhaps. The stone up there—" He pointed at the stone column he had been leaning against. "—is dense, denser than it should be. It's helping to hold up quite a bit of weight, and I could swear I heard it groan when I touched it. There's wind up above, I think, and the sand that's working its way through the chinks in the ceiling—" Here he waved a hand at the exact moment a flurry of glassy dust sifted in from above, raining down in a fall not far away. "—leads me to believe we're probably close to the sea."

Maia nodded, listening intently, her eyes sharp as flint as she tried to reconcile her most recent memories with their current situation. "Eco?" she asked after a moment.

Now Gol gave the broadest, brightest grin Kisan had ever seen. His teeth were still a little sharp, but nothing close to the honed ivory that she remembered from her early childhood. Instead, they were white and straight and only his biting teeth—canines, she thought they were called—seemed sharper than the rest. They were still sharper than Maia's, or Kisan's, she discovered giving her tongue an experimental brush over her them on inside of her mouth.

That was different. It used to be that all the teeth on her left side were sharp, and the ones on her right were flat in comparison. There had been so much change, so quickly, and it was beginning now to sink in. What had happened, and what was she going to do?

Gol was still grinning when he spoke, floating a little higher into the air and throwing out both arms—both good and whole, unscarred and undegraded—to encompass the whole room. "Everywhere!" he exclaimed. "The air is practically _screaming_ with it, singing so high it makes my head spin!" He laughed, and it was musical and clear as the windchimes Nursie had taught Kisan to make, nowhere near the gravelly rasp that it was in the girl's memories. "And it takes quite a lot of Dark Eco to make _my_ head spin, if you recall. I'm surprised you can't feel it, Sister."

"I can, I think," she said, squinting in thought. "It's a…vibration. A hum, maybe." She chuckled and shook her head. "But then, I was never even half as good at feeling and using Dark Eco as you were."

Kisan looked around, then closed her eyes and ground her teeth and clenched her hands into fists, searching for something different. She had never been able to feel eco around her because she had been so full of the stuff that everything else was too quiet for her to hear, to subtle for her to taste. It had been like asking her to identify a scrap of mint on her tongue when her mouth was full of snow.

"I-I think…" she said after a minute, opening her eyes and giving a surprised blink. "I th-think I f-fuh-feel it. A-A little." She squinted, face twisting up in concentration. "I-It's like…luh-like…" she struggled to find the words. "Like feeling the w-water a-around a buh-boat, when y-you're sitting in i-it wuh-with y-your eyes c-c-closed."

Gol and Maia looked at their daughter with completely different expressions. Maia looked a little confused, more curious than anything, her eyebrows arched slightly and her lips just barely parted; Gol's eyes were wide, mouth open wide enough to show his teeth and features etched with what could only be complete shock.

With that look on his face, Kisan was worried about what her father was going to do. Was she wrong? She remembered him having a temper, and even if he'd only ever taken it out on the Lurkers she was still scared. There were no Lurkers here, if he lost his temper—

To her immense surprise, Gol surged down toward her and threw his arms around her, sweeping her up into the air with him and spinning around. He held her tight, throwing back his head and laughing.

"Well _done_ Daughter!" he cheered. "You're an absolute _wonder_!" He held the back of her head and put his chin into the crook of her neck, still laughing. "Oh, you're just as good as your mother—better than she was at your age!"

"Daddy—" She tried to pull back, but Gol held on tight. "_Daddy_!" He loosened enough for her to pull back. "Daddy, h-how old _am_ I?"

He blinked, obviously finding it an odd question at first, but then his eyebrows knit together and he squinted. "…Honestly? I'm not sure I know. Last I saw you, you were seven."

She couldn't help but smile—that was her father, honest and blunt. For all he'd changed outside from what she remembered, regardless of how different the air around him tasted, he was still who'd he always been.

She put her arms around his neck, still smiling. "I'm f-fourteen."

Kisan didn't need to see Maia—standing behind her—to know the look on her face. The colors might have been different from those in her memory, but she'd seen her mother shocked plenty enough to know what it looked like. Wide eyes, open mouth, features going pale and then taking on a flush; her hands would come up, one would touch to her lips, covering her open mouth, and the other would press long fingers to the knuckles of the first.

Gol simply blinked, looking decently surprised himself but taking it in stride. That was also the same. Some things surprised him, others didn't, and there was really no telling which was which.

"You must take after me," he said with a grin. "You're _much_ smaller than your mother was at your age. I'm sorry for that, I had hoped you would turn out to be tall."

Kisan couldn't help but giggle. "I d-don't mind." Her grin broadened. "M-Muh-Much."

He smiled at her, chuckling lightly, and then descended to put her back down on the ground. This time, he touched down as well, bare feet on the cool, dusty stone floor. He looked to Maia, tilting his head back slightly to look up and meet her eyes. "Sister," he asked quietly, "what's the last thing you remember?"

"Falling into the Silo," she replied after a moment, closing her eyes as though it hurt her to speak of it. "The sound of it slamming shut above us."

He nodded. "It's the same for me. But Kisan," he gestured to her and shot her a smile, "says she lived seven years past that day. What's the last thing _you_ remember, Daughter?"

She cast her eyes to the ground, squinting in thought. "B-Being…sick. E-Eco-sick. Nursie a-and Isshi and—and the o-others put me t-t-to bed, and I wuh-went t-to sleep." She shook her head. "Th-That's all."

Gol closed his eyes, his lips tightening into a grim line, and Kisan understood suddenly why. She had just told him how she'd died.

But…she wasn't dead. None of them were.

A long moment passed in silence. "Now," Gol whispered, "I believe there's a question we need answered before we discuss anything else." He opened his eyes and looked between his sister and his daughter. "What happened?"

------

The pins and needles sensation brought Rheanon back the second time; a rush of feeling made her wake with a yelp and sit up straight. But as quickly as the feeling rushed through her—this time—it vanished, and she found herself able to move again. There was still a light ache over her entire body, and she felt creaky in the joints—in the back of her mind she wondered if this was how Onin felt after her eco channeling—but she managed to get to her feet without any more dizzy spells or flares of unbearable pain.

Only then did she think to look around, and let out a sound of distinct discontent. If she judged the light properly, it had been a good couple hours since she'd passed out, leaving her to waste most of the afternoon unconscious while suffering from eco overload.

That was going to have some unfortunate consequences. While she knew now where most of the people would have reappeared shortly after the Flash, now she had no clue as to where any of them would be at this point. It had just been too long.

With luck, Sig would have put Erol someplace… secure. If Erol had even been _found_ at this point. The question now—for her at least—was which city should she go to. Where would she help level things; Haven, or Spargus?

She was very worried about Seem. Her eco-shattered friend had probably fared the worst from this encounter, and she desperately wanted to learn—from Jak or Sig preferably—what the situation was like.

She scoured the ground for her comm., knowing that in all likelihood Ashelin and Sig had probably been trying to get hold of her for most of the day. It was a wonder, she mused as she looked for the blue-painted device, that neither of them had thought to send out a search party.

Then again, what with the chaos that both leaders would have to be facing right now, it was understandable.

There was a buzzing noise that made Rhea jump half a foot, reflexes spinning her around in a defensive position before she realized that it had been her comm. She laughed a little sheepishly at herself, and went to retrieve the device.

"**Rhea, come in. **_**Please**_** come in.**"

Ah, there it was. It had fallen into one of the brighter patches of flowers—probably one of Samos' favorites—during the Flash. She moved over and carefully picked it up, though the half-panicked voice of Keira on the other end made her hesitate to answer.

Though they had been on decent terms recently, Rhea still couldn't help disliking the mechanic for her varying attitude towards Jak. It was an old grudge, held since the Underground war, when Sage's daughter had said and done plenty of things to lose her the Precurian's trust. Keira had Daxter to thank for her tiff with Jak going public, actually, but Rhea was the only one that still really held her to it. Rheanon was known to be pretty stubborn, unless Keira did something big then Rhea wasn't likely to forgive her any time soon.

If she was going to forgive her at all. It had been an awfully long time to hold the grudge already…

Still, Keira _was _calling for her. Knowing that she was probably going to get yelled at over the comm.—not to mention the lecture from Ashelin and Sig, among others, that she was doubtless to get for being out of touch for so long—Rhea reluctantly depressed the button that would transmit her voice to Keira.

"Yeah. I'm here."

------

On the other end, in Ashelin's office, Keira Hagai let out a startled yelp as the Precurian's hoarse voice streamed over the airwaves. She'd been calling for almost an hour now and hadn't anticipated Rheanon to actually respond. Between the baroness, Vin, Rfena, and herself—the only ones who really knew Rhea, that weren't out in the Waste or too busy to bother—they'd been calling for most of the day with no reply.

Ashelin had been alerted by Keira's reaction and strode over to where the mechanic was sitting.

"**Keira?**" That was Rheanon's voice all right. Thank Mar. Strained and weary, but recognizably Rhea. "**You okay?**"

Ashelin allowed herself a moment to feel relief that the diminutive girl was unharmed—other than sounding like she had been through a rather tiring fight. Then the relief washed away, replaced by aggravation. She moved Keira aside and grabbed the headset from the shorter woman, adjusting it so that she could speak into the transmitter as sharply as possible.

"Rheanon, where have you been?!" The red-haired woman demanded. "The city has gone _insane_, and you're off—"

"**Look, Baroness,**"Rheanon interjected,"**I **_**know**_** that chaos is happening. I happened to suffer some side-effects from that wave of eco, and I've been **_**unconscious**_** for a good portion of the afternoon. If you don't mind, leave the lecture for later. I'm sure you'll get your turn to chew me out.**"

It was a rare thing for someone to interrupt Ashelin. The only people in the redhead's memory that _had_ were Jak—because he was Jak, and when he decided it was time to say something it was usually pretty important—Torn—once, on a very bad day a couple years back—Samos—who interrupted everyone regularly—and Daxter—only when Jak didn't want to bother himself with interruptions.

Rheanon never had, as far as Ashelin could remember. But then, she and Ashelin weren't exactly around each other often enough for her to gauge how often it was she would behave like this.

Ashelin's retort died on her lips. The Precurian girl sounded almost… bitter. So the redhead reigned in her irritation—Rhea had a right to interrupt, Ashelin needed to get her head on straight again—and sighed.

"Fine." Her tone was tinged with annoyance. "Get into Haven proper as soon as you can. I'm not the only one who wants an explanation for the sudden reappearance of over half the people in the city."

"**Roger that, Baroness, I'm coming in as fast as I can.**"

There was radio silence then, and Ashelin removed the headset, placing it back on the desk. That was one less thing to worry about. Rheanon's explanation…well, Ashelin was looking forward to seeing how the small Precursor-turned-elf would attempt to clear up this muddle, at least.

And in the meantime, there was still plenty of work to do. There were still files to pull, calls to field, and too many explanations to promise for later.

The final task she had set before her, she decided to drop onto Rheanon whenever she crossed through the doors. The Precurian was the only one of anyone—anyone awake, at least—who could really tell anyone what had happened, so that would be her responsibility.

The Baroness nodded to herself, and went back to work. This was turning out to be the longest day she'd had in years.

------


	5. Announcement

**Disclaimers:**

The _Jak and Daxter _game series and all related elements _© Naughty Dog Incorporated_

Herz, Doe and Koe Hessian, Rall Hage/Hessian, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and most named KG _© Blu_

Rheanon and Seima Llast and most named Precursors _© Laina _

Rfena Veras, Azalea Mirithir, Giu Avaar, Keela Sevah, and Aelyn Adalla _© Taitai_

Veer Shurra, Melir Varhaden, Kisan Acheron, Emori Geel, Makao Lurish, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and Rune Thian _© Nashi _

------

**Five: Announcement**

------

"How's it coming along?"

Vin let out a shriek a good couple octaves higher than his gender would suggest he was allowed, giving a violent start that nearly sent him tumbling off the edge his legs hung over. Luckily, the dozen some ropes he'd requested earlier were securely attached to his belt and kept him securely in place, even as the white-haired man began to shake.

"W-Wh-Wha-WHAT ARE YOU _DOING_?!" he cried, spinning as much as his self-imposed restraints allowed to stare wide-eyed at Torn, behind him. "A-Are you TRYING to KILL ME? AGAIN?! Because t-that's EXACTLY wh-what you just about DID!" Now he was wagging his finger at the other man, the other hand gripping the ropes in a white knuckled hold. "I-It's all good and f-fah-fine you need to check up on me. I-I understand that. But you DON'T have to SN-SNEAK UP ON ME! I-I just got my body BACK. I-IF I hadn't had THESE," Vin held at his ropes, "i-it wouldah just guh-gone 2-D again! AGAINST THE PAVEMENT." Whatever glare he'd managed to put up behind his red-tinted goggles was now replaced with wide-eyed fright. "I-I don't—don't wanna die again, Torn. I DON'T!"

This entire time, the Commander had simply let the older man rant, knowing any attempt to interrupt would be overlooked. Torn crossed his arms, listening as his technician rattled on in his usual frightened way. True, he caught himself missing it the year they were certain they'd seen the last of ol' Vin, but now? After being quite used to the hologram version popping up whenever it felt like it to 'chat'? It'd quickly resumed its usual level of annoyance.

But…he _had_ just gotten his body back. The least Torn could do was humor him.

"…a-and then, you BURST in, scaring me to DEATH—AGAIN—w-wha-when you expect me to DO this…"

…Okay, humoring period over.

"Vin," the rail-thin man held up a hand to stop him. And…Vin kept right on going. "Vin." And going. "_Vin_." And…

"VIN!"

The man in question gave another start, as if he'd forgotten Torn was still there amid his rant—which was, in his defense, usual seeing as the poor man had taken up a couple years prior a rather embarrassing habit of talking to himself—and quickly snapped his mouth shut.

"How. Much. Longer?" Torn asked through gritted teeth. His patience was beginning to wear thin.

"A-Ah-another thirty minutes? Maybe?" Vin _knew_ the fact Torn was wearing. For now, he'd be keeping his psycho-paranoia-babble to himself…

"Good." With that, the younger of the two turned on his heel, in his normal practiced military ease, and stormed off the roof top.

Letting out a sigh, Vin went back to work. Within the next couple minutes, he'd taken back up his muttering, cursing the Commander and his insensitivity to all the phobias Vin held.

On the lift down, Torn was doing pretty much the exact opposite. He was damning each and every phobia he could think of that Vin had ever shown even a remote chance of holding. It made working with the man horribly obnoxious on the best of days.

Not that he didn't like Vin, but one had to admit, the man was _off_.

At least he was making some headway.

It'd been nearly two hours on the dot since the explosion that'd sent the city spiraling into chaos. Praxis was contained—thank whatever Precursors that were still on their side—and probably sedated, but perhaps that was too much to hope for. Besides that, though…

They needed to pull the reigns on this situation, and they had to do it now. Already there were reports swarming in of mass reappearances from every single sector. They'd even gotten a few calls from citizens saying they'd seen the king! On top of that, some people had already taken advantage of this mayhem and started looting while the rest were busy with the resurrected.

He really hadn't been lying when he'd told everyone the situation over here was _insane_.

Things would become orderly if Torn had any say in it, though. Once Vin was finished, he'd finally get a grip on this stupid stunt. He'd sent the jumpy little man to work on reconnecting the broadcasting system they'd salvaged from what was left of the palace a couple years ago. True, it hadn't been used in a good decade, back before the Baron had put up those obnoxious bulletins, but they'd rescued it in nearly prime condition so now it was really just a matter of getting the damn thing set up.

Which was why Vin was on the roof.

And would be off it in half an hour if all went well.

------

There were many things a man such as Razer Gefahr had seen in his life. Most were unpleasant, even for him, and most were things he'd never discuss outside _very_ fortunate company.

Of course, he had experienced pleasant things. Most of these were condensed into the last year and a half, which suited him just fine.

Now, though he'd seen many a thing, both good and bad, and had a very wide range of experience in both…he really had no clue which category the current scene before him fit beneath.

His husband, who had been more anxious than the older man had ever seen him the entire ride over to Haven—and who had been pressing Razer to drive faster than usual, something even rarer—had attached himself rather tightly to a much shorter man even the Northerner could identify as his older brother. And, while Herz looked on the verge of tears of joy, Koe looked like he just wanted the guy off him. This made it very hard to judge where this reunion would turn next.

Razer had been told quite a lot about Koe. He actually found once he got Herz on the subject of his big brother, it was very difficult to get him back off it. In fact, he'd probably heard every whacky story Herz could remember about said brother at least twice. On top of that, he'd been shown the family portrait still set atop the mantle. It was the only picture of Koe in the entire house, not including a few baby pictures Sir Rall had been a little too willing to pull out a couple months back, but the man before him definitely resembled that of the one in the portrait.

Perhaps a little more muscled than he had been in that, but according to Herz, it had been taken two years before his initial death.

That was another thing. Herz had told Razer numerous times, usually after ranting about some obscure incident that had him laughing too hard about to finish in one go, how much he missed his brother. He'd told him Koe had died. Therefore, this scene, despite how much Torn had reinforced it with his own call not too long after Doe's summon, simply made no sense to Razer.

People do not come back from the dead. It simple does not work that way.

…But, there was no denying that the man Herz was hugging was his brother. Even if Razer wasn't able to realize that, _he_ would.

The taller of the two tightened his hold, pulling Koe closer despite the obvious struggling. "Makers, _K-Koe_!" The man in question began working a little harder to get Herz off of him.

"Let go!" Koe snapped, pushing against Herz's chest. "Whoever you are, _get off_!" He shoved again, this time effectively dislodging himself from his brother, who stumbled back. "What the hell!?" He spat. Herz just looked on in shock.

"Koe…Koe, you…?" Herz looked to his parents, both of which were now standing. His bright green eyes landed on his father and Rall simply shook his head.

"I'm fairly sure that for him," Rall said, "it's only been a couple of days."

Now Koe had turned, looking to his father in surprise. He didn't understand; did his father know this guy? Koe had never met him before, at least he didn't think so. And what was with all this 'only a couple days' business?

"What are you talking about, Dad?" He gave another look back at Herz then returned to facing his parents, seriously starting to get freaked out. "Hasn't it been?"

Rall just shook his head. Next to him, Doe was fighting a losing battle against her returning tears.

"K-Koe." He turned around to face Herz again. The taller man was chewing on the side of his lip in a fashion that was oddly familiar to the recently dead son. "I-It's…it's been ten _years_, Koe." When the unbelieving look across his brother's face didn't change, Herz decided he'd probably just have to come out and say it. "It's…I'm _Herz_, Koe. I-It's been ten years a-and…and I'm _twenty_."

Everyone in the room, including the Marauder still standing in the doorway, waited for some realization to hit Koe. He just blinked.

"Uh…no," Koe said after a long pause, shaking his head. "Even if that was true—which is _insane_—my kid brother's eyes are _brown_." He motioned to the taller man's brilliant green eyes. "Yours aren't."

A look of hurt instantly washed over Herz's features. Koe really didn't recognize him. Not, now that he thought about it, he had any reason to. So much had happened, especially to his face… "T-They _were_ brown, Koe, I…just had to get them changed." Behind him, Razer couldn't completely hide his wince.

"You expect me to buythat?" Herz opened his mouth, presumably to try and convince him with something else, but Koe instantly waved him off. "No! Just shut up with that crap and tell me who you _really_ are! This is _not_ funny!"

"But I _am_ Herz!" he cried back in frustration.

"He is," added Razer. By now he'd decided this little mishap was definitely being marked as a bad one.

Koe instantly shot Razer a sharp look. "Oh, and let me guess. You're my _other_ 'little' brother." The Northerner took a step forward, a snappish response poised to fly from his lips in the next second, but Rall took this time to step between Razer and both his sons.

"They're telling the truth, Koe," his father said. He motioned to Herz, behind him. "He _is_ Herz and you _have_ been…gone, the last ten years."

Koe shook his head in disbelief. "No, Dad, that…that makes _absolutely_ no sense." His brown eyes bounced between his father and the stranger that claimed to be his little Herz and shook his head again.

"I wouldn't lie to you, son," Rall replied simply. He placed a slightly shaky hand on his newly returned son's shoulder. "Ten years ago, you left to protect Old Sandover. After the second day…Praxis ordered the activation of a new barrier and a new wall was constructed behind it. Do you remember that?" Koe stared at his father for a moment before shaking his head. At this, Rall visibly saddened. "You were," the eldest Hessian swallowed. "You were left behind that wall, son, along with many other people. You…"

Rall paused, trying to keep his composure. It was beginning to become so hard, though. The grip he had on his son's shoulder tightened, trying to stop its trembling. If he didn't get a hold of himself soon, he'd be crying along with his wife.

"You died, Koe," he finally whispered. "Behind the walls, you died."

------

The annoying beeping that was his comm. going off awoke Torn from his very light sleep. He couldn't remember when he dozed off, only that he'd leaned back in his chair and set his hand over his eye to massage at his growing headache.

Damn, sometimes he missed days back when he could go 72 straight hours without having to worry about sleep. Once you get hooked back on the stuff, though…

The Commander practically kicked out of his chair, propelling himself back over to his desk to pick up his communicator. "Torn," he snapped quickly.

"**I-It's DONE already!**"came a crackly version of Vin's voice. "**Can I puh-_please_ get off this rooftuh-top now?**"

Despite how this day had been going, Torn cracked the very bones of a smile. "Sure thing."

Before heading up to the lift to relieve the white-haired technician of his ropes, he glanced at the large, tacky clock that'd come with his office. It was just now turning 14:33.

------

"…I _what_?!"

Koe's face was complete disbelief. "Y-You want me to believe I was _dead_?" he asked as he shrugged off his father's hand.

"Well, it's _true_," Doe struggled out. She'd wrapped her arms around herself again, the topic threatening to send her back into hysterics. "Whuh-Why do you think we're all so surprised?" She demanded. "You've been _gone_, Koe! Ten years you've been _gone_."

"I refuse to believe this!" Her son shouted back. "First this nut-job," he jabbed a thumb in Herz's direction, "who's older than _me _has it into his head he's _Herz_,and now you want me to think I've _died_?!"

"You _have_!" Both Herz and Doe replied. "And he—"

"—I—"

"—_IS—_"

"—_AM—_"

"—Herz!"

Koe looked between the two of them in surprise, not knowing who he should reply to first. Then he settled on the green-haired man before him and proceeded to get right in his face. "_No_. You're _not_."

Herz grabbed his brother's shoulders. "I _am_, Koe!" he said just as forcefully. "I-I know I've changed, but I _am_ Herz!"

"But your eyes are wrong!" Koe began struggling against the grip on his shoulders that felt like iron. He glared up at this strange man, trying to fight against the part of him that was starting to believe the insanity that had apparently overtaken this household. "Your eyes are wrong and your skin's too dark and your hair _may_ be right, but last time I checked, Herz's face wasn't carved up like railroad tracks!"

Herz flushed, then went pale at the mention of the four long scars that ran across the right side of his face, two over his nose, one over his mouth, and one directly across it from corner to corner. Suddenly he was reminded of all the nights he'd fretted over what Koe would do to him if he ever found out why his face had gotten messed up. He could now. He wouldn't like hearing the story…

"Herz was badly hurt when he was sixteen," Rall cut in, seeing the taller of his two sons freeze up. "Four years ago."

Koe pushed Herz for the second time, freeing himself. He turned again on his father. "That's complete _cra_—"

A burst of static and then the screech of mic feed-back suddenly erupted somewhere outside. Everyone in the small home instantly clutched at their sensitive, pointed ears, most stooping over. Both Doe and Razer proceeded to swear loudly, but not loudly enough to be heard over the horribly high-pitched noise, in their native tongue.

Actually, everyone in Haven did this—only swearing in Common, not Northern Marauder. The noise could be heard anywhere, especially down where the water slums used to be, near the new Freedom League Guard HQ.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the horrible sound cut out, leaving only the static. Timidly, the citizens of Haven straightened from their stooped positions to look around confused.

Then "**Attention citizens of Haven City**," boomed a voice that sounded distinctly like the gravel owned by the Commander of the FLG. Herz instantly frowned. "**This is Commander Torn. At this time, if you have any family member or close friend who you know appeared in the flash at exactly noon today, please direct them to the Freedom League Guard HQ immediately. Doing this will help sort all this out.**"

Glances were exchanged. Lots and lots of glances.

"**I repeat**," continued Torn, "**if anyone you know randomly appeared today at noon, send—**" The wiry commander's voice suddenly cut out, replaced with what sounded like muffled talking. Those who knew her personally could easily tell that beside the muted, dry tones of Torn's fevered whispering was Ashelin, the Baroness' voice. This awkward half-silence that stretched over the entire city lasted for a couple minutes. Then Torn came back. "**Correction, all _military personnel_ that appeared today at noon need to report to the FLG HQ as soon as possible. Meaning Krimzon Guards, Freedom League Guards, whatever. If you don't know how to get here, I'm sure there's someone around who does. Follow the crowd of blue and red for all I care, _just get here_**." This apparently concluded the broadcast because after that the static that had been enveloping all of Haven cut out. For a moment there was only silence.

Then, nearly every KG in the city did a double take. Many a voice rang out with "_Commander_ Torn?!" in shocked disbelief. This included Koe.

"WHAT THE _HELL _IS GOING ON?!" the first-born yelled in frustration.

Razer, who had turned to lean against the door to listen to the rather impromptu summons outside, fixed the currently youngest Hessian—a fact that had yet to really register with everyone in the room—with a glare.

"_'What is going on'_," he mimicked in the rude tone he used with people who especially annoyed him—and Koe's recent behavior towards Razer's husband, _particularly_ that scars jab, _especially_ annoyed him, "is precisely what your family has been _trying_ to tell you." The retired racer pushed himself out of the doorframe and walked slowly back towards the living room. "You have been dead. You are no longer dead." Razer made one of his more feminine vague hand gestures. "_Apparently_ you are not the only one who has ceased being dead. Furthermore, the current ruler of Haven seems to want the people _like_ you at the Freedom League Headquarters." He leaned down to stand at Koe's eye level, cocking his head slightly to the side in a lazy fashion. "Perhaps you and I are now on the same page?"

"That's _enough_, Razer," Doe hissed. She was equally annoyed by her son's inability to listen to any of them, but she sure as hell didn't like how Razer was treating him. Razer made a face, angry at being told to stop when he was _obviously_ the one in the right. He leaned back nonetheless, his glare withstanding. Koe glared back, but even as a trained officer, he couldn't help but be intimidated by this strange man.

Who was he anyway?! He had a thicker version of Doe's accent and the same pale skin and dark hair of someone born up North. But he, like the Wannabe-Herz, had the wrong eyes.

Koe was starting to see a trend here…

"I'll take you to Headquarters," offered Herz quietly from behind Razer, effectively stopping his brother from beginning another argument. Herz was pretty much hidden from Koe's sight behind his much larger husband, despite their equal heights. He couldn't see his face.

Koe opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but this time Herz cut him off. "You have to go and…I don't know, we could talk on the way there? I could fill you in?" Now Herz was sounding downright hopeful. "Either way, you'll need someone to show you how to get there." The shorter man made a face, obviously not happy with the idea of spending _any_ more time with this psycho. Razer's glare thickened.

"Koe, go with your brother," ordered Doe, her emotions apparently back under control. Her son shot back a look saying just how _much_ he hated the idea of going with this guy. She shot the look back and that was the end of that. With a sigh, Koe headed for the door, nervously adjusting the straps of his gauntlet as he went.

"Mein Herz," Razer whispered to Herz as he turned to follow, the black-haired man grasping his shoulder lightly to stop him. Concern blanketed his angular features. His husband quickly waved it off.

"I'm fine, Razer," he replied quietly. He gave the older man a quick peck on the cheek then left as well.

For a moment there was thick, awkward silence.

Then Rall came to a realization.

"Oh _hell_!" the oldest man gasped. "His Highness is still out there!" With that he bolted out the door, past Razer.

Razer sighed. While that outburst from his father-in-law greatly confused him, so had everything else today. Instead of wasting time asking something that possibly didn't even have an answer, he simply moved over to the Hessian's couch and plopped down on the worn cushions tiredly.

"Would you happen to have any coffee?" he asked Doe, the only other person left in the house. "Or better yet, hard liquor?"

"Rall has a thing against alcohol, you know that," replied Doe like it was any other day—barring her eyes were still heavily rimmed with red. "And I smashed our only coffee pot. There's still tea, though."

Though the thought of trying Doe's strong-smelling tea slightly sickened him, Razer knew better than to decline. While absently feeling horribly uncomfortable knowing he wouldn't be joined on the Hessians' couch any time soon, he nodded to Doe. She left just as Razer turned to look at the door, hoping whatever was going on outside it wasn't as unsettling as what had taken place in here only moments before.

------


	6. Damage Control

**Disclaimers:**

The _Jak and Daxter _game series and all related elements _© Naughty Dog Incorporated_

Herz, Doe and Koe Hessian, Rall Hage/Hessian, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and most named KG _© Blu_

Rheanon and Seima Llast and most named Precursors _© Laina _

Rfena Veras, Azalea Mirithir, Giu Avaar, Keela Sevah, and Aelyn Adalla _© Taitai_

Veer Shurra, Melir Varhaden, Kisan Acheron, Emori Geel, Makao Lurish, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and Rune Thian _© Nashi _

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**Six: Damage Control**

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This was making Torn sick, watching them file in one after another.

Well, they didn't really _file_—there had never really been enough discipline between the ranks to get something so orderly as _filing_—they mainly wandered in. And he watched, leaning his back against the wall behind his podium, trying to discern who was who from this distance by color and stride.

And not their faces.

And not throw up. Not throwing up at this point would be wonderful. Hell, it'd make his day.

Dammit, he should have been able to handle this.

It wasn't that hard, telling one from the other. The Blues were the most recent, obviously, though for now there'd be no telling _how_ recent. Two, three years back? Pushing four? Their walk was probably the most skittish. All of them were smaller, too. Yeah, they had to be from the Daystar war. This was the bunch that died too young.

Torn concentrated on that though for a moment longer than he probably should have. His stomach lurched. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to just go back to watching.

He knew a lot of the Blues. Not just faces either; Torn knew these kids by name. These were the rookies he used to baby sit back in the year of peace. They had to be, with how jumpy they seemed—obviously too young for this job. Hell, he knew too many…but…

Reds. These would be the problem. Red had been around a lot longer than Blue. Longer than the people of this city had been alive. At thirty-two, even Torn was just a kid when they started popping up in such numbers and with such force. He wondered if he'd gone back far enough in the records…

Damn if he didn't recognize all their faces, though. He'd gone back far enough, then. Damn.

The Reds had two strides, he decided, watching as the room filled. The power walkers—the biggest coming in, giving everyone else the evil eye and pushing their way to the front, where they probably thought their rightful place was. These were the Baron's soldiers, no doubt about it. They'd end up being more of a potential problem than anything. There wasn't much Torn could use from their ranks, power-hungry bastards, the lot of them. They wouldn't obey anyone else but that equally power-hungry lunatic.

Who was incarcerated currently like a two-bit criminal, probably complaining the ear off the guard assigned to him. Torn hoped they'd tazered his regal ass at least once by now. Considering who was guarding him, he was actually sure they had.

The other batch of Reds, a much smaller batch, exactly 53 in number, but 55 originally, Torn, quite frankly, didn't want to think about. At all. They were the main reason he wanted to lie down and not move for a long time.

Their faces, he knew. Their names, he knew. Those 53 people haunted him for _years_, and no matter how he looked at it, he couldn't keep from thinking they were haunting him now. This was like some bad dream—some _nightmare_, actually—and Mar if he didn't want to wake up.

"Commander?"

He'd never admit it, but he jumped. Just a little. He turned to Rfena, his assistant. "I'm fine," Torn said, his tone about as final as he could currently make it. The younger woman, setting the load of papers he'd given her earlier down on her desk a platform level below, raised a red eyebrow.

"I didn't ask if you were, but that's good," the girl replied. She obviously didn't believe him, though. And that wasn't really not a tone she should ever have taken with him. Torn scowled. He was way too easy on that girl to begin with…

"I'm starting," he announced then, pushing off the wall. He uncrossed his arms and tried not to think about the fact his palms were all clammy. Rfena just nodded and uncapped her pen.

As Torn approached the podium, he gave the room one more look around. People had stopped filing in a couple minutes before, but continued to mill around. A good majority, however, were seated. Some stopped talking as he put his hands on the desk set out for him on the dais, but most of those were Blues. They'd been through a briefing with Torn as the Commander at least once. They could tell he wanted to start. The others, though, all Reds, either ignored him or stared at him before prodding their neighbor for answers.

Koe was one such Red, giving the guy beside him a nudge and pointing up to the stage as he asked, "Is that _actually_ Torn?"

Herz nodded, trying not to make the usual _'God, I hate that guy'_ face while on the subject of the man. Or while being in the same room as him, for that matter. This briefing was obviously going to be a _fun_ one. "That's him, alright," he almost muttered. His brother squinted.

"Well…he doesn't look like he's changed."

"He used to be skinnier," replied Herz. The disdain in his tone made Koe turn to look at him. "Like a pole. Or a twig."

"…no, he hasn't," Koe shot back. Torn looked about as big as he did back on the field. He hadn't changed—he was like the _only_ thing that hadn't changed.

"Uh, yeah, he has—was," corrected the slightly older man. He waved a hand, the motion influenced primarily by his husband. "Whatever."

"**Attention!**" Torn's voice boomed from the speakers on either side of the stage. Most conversations ended instantly, including that of the Hessians. Torn repeated himself and the room was silent. "**When I call your name, stand and say 'present', or something like it**." The instruction held the brunet's usual force and bluntness in equal measures, but a few in the audience picked up a slight trimmer at the end. It caused a few exchanged glances.

Here Torn paused. He knew which group he'd be calling first. He had several piles stacked on this table, set in the exact order he planned on going in, and he knew which one he'd be pulling from first. Precursors, he didn't want to, though.

He'd thought, after watching Praxis get taken in—Precursors-damned _Praxis_—he'd be able to handle this. This couldn't be any harder than seeing the man you hated for so many years, who you'd thought for nearly half a decade was where he was supposed to be, cold and dead, obviously be neither. He'd thought it couldn't. Dammit, but it was.

This was _very_ different.

Finally, he _forced_ himself to reach down and grab up the right stack. His hands were shaking, but his voice stayed level thanks to years of practice.

Torn didn't really even look at the paper as he spoke. He'd had it memorized for a long time, after all…

"**Aren, Marus**."

As the soldier stood, Torn had to close his eyes. "Uh, present," Marus said, slightly raising his hand. The Commander swallowed roughly, finding some sick humor in the fact he remembered the kid's voice. After a moment of staring, Rfena looked down and checked the name off on the list before her.

As if on cue, the audience erupted into strained whispers. They couldn't believe it any more than he wanted to. Marus gave a confused look around, obviously not used to a full room's attention directed squarely at him, before sitting.

"**Quiet**," Torn barked after a moment of letting the confusion rule the room. By now the crowd had become nervous and listened to him the first time. Ignoring the cold sweat beginning to carve a trail down his face, the Commander went back to his list.

For every name, there was a person who stood. At first, the anxious whispers continued to pop up, but soon a quiet hush fell over the room, everyone anxious to see if the next one called was there—if this unnatural, almost paranormal event continued one more name down the line. When Torn got to the H's, he paused after the last name, remembering what Herz had said over the comm.. He'd said his brother was back, and when the Commander called his first name, sure enough the kid stood.

He shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. After every name, he was surprised.

Finally, all 53 KIAs for Dead Town were called and, trying not to shake, Torn moved on to the KIAs for the Krimzon Guard between ten to nine years ago.

He didn't know how long it took to read them all. There wasn't a clock in the briefing room for a reason. Couldn't have anyone, be it soldiers or commanding officers, fidgeting to leave. It felt like an eternity, though. Every time he finished a list, ninety percent or more of which were present, he wanted more and more to stop and lie down. Or scream, maybe.

Finally—_thank you, whoever's still out there to care—_he ran out of paper.

They were done.

After trying unsuccessfully to wet his mouth that'd long since run dry, he addressed the returned troops, all of which still locked in the deathly—uh, damn, no, _wrong_ phrase—silence. "**I…have just read off of KIA and MIA records for this city's law enforcement, dating as far back as ten years ago. We don't know why...**" He was interrupted as, once again, there was an uproar of confusion from the personnel before him. "**We don't know **_**why**_," Torn started again. The crowd fell reluctantly silent. **"But over**," he paused to do some quick math from the pages in front of him,"**six-hundred of you have come back from the dead. Seeing as you are no longer on record, if you want to reenlist, see my assistant**." After a quick motion to Rfena, Torn got the _hell _off the stage.

-----

Damas reached out, fingertips just barely brushing against the wall in front of him. Well, if one could quite call it a wall. Really, he couldn't tell if it was made from wood or metal meant to appear to be wood or…Whatever it was, it seemed about ready to topple over if he decided to _look_ at the building it was attached to the wrong way.

Most of Haven's slums seemed to be in similar or, heaven forbid, _worse_ condition.

The king sighed. Why was this place in such horrible shape? Poorly constructed housing was not something you could blame on war. Even he, a man who hadn't been in this forsaken city for Precursors know how long, could tell this sector hadn't gotten the attention it desperately needed in maybe a decade. Ashelin had been baroness for close to two years now—from what he knew—yet things were still falling apart.

It was horribly sad when Spargus, a city erected from sandstone and driftwood and bits of stolen debris, looked more stable than _this_.

"Your Highness!"

The king blinked, realizing he'd lost himself in thought as he straightened, returning his hand to his side. While he had automatically recognized the speaker's voice, he was only certain of their identity once he'd turned around. Rall Hage sprinted up to the older man, looking quite winded.

"Sire! I'm glad to have—" the green-haired man paused to suck in an almost strained breath, a hand pressed tightly to his side, "—have found you." He cracked a smile. "I was beginning to worry you'd gotten yourself lost."

Damas shook his head. "I'm amazed how well I still know this city, considering all it's been through," he replied, purple eyes slipping ever upwards as he spoke. "The main walls are still the same…" After a moment of letting that statement hang in the air between them, the elder shook his head. "I went further than I meant and was on my way back—to see if you could explain that citywide announcement to me, in fact. I'm afraid it confused me a little bit."

"Actually, I'm rather confused myself," Rall admitted. "But, I will do my best to relieve us both of our confusion." The man adjusted his glasses, the small moment buying him time to attempt to find a way to explain the goings on without being horribly or insultingly blunt. Considering King Damas' current position, he could do either quite easily… "What I believe is going on…" Again he paused. Precursors, how was he going to explain this? The man's pale eyes casually veered from that of his former employer's. "The…leader of the Freedom League most likely wishes to document all the citizens that returned today, starting with those from the military."

This obviously did nothing to quell Damas' puzzlement. "Returned. Returned from where?"

"Well, M'lord…" The eldest Hessian shifted awkwardly, hands finding his pockets and fiddling with their contents or lack there of. "Returned from…from the _dead_."

For a long minute, Damas simply looked at the man. Looked at him like that statement had made absolutely made no sense at all. Then that it made too much sense. The king squinted. "Hage…would _I_ be included in that list? Considering how little I recall of how I ended up in a position to meet with you…"

Rall blinked, not actually expecting his king to jump to the right conclusion with so little prompting. Of course, that quickly changed to him feeling guilty for ever doubting the other man. Reluctantly, the shorter man nodded. "Yes, M'Lord."

Again Damas looked at him, obviously a little afraid to believe. He brought in a deep breath, letting out slowly.

"Well, this is beginning to sound like madness, isn't it?"

"I'm sure that's the very thought is on everyone's mind at this moment." Despite the slight humor he intentionally added to his words, Rall sighed. "If I might say so, M'lord, you are taking the news _exceedingly_ well."

"I have been through some very odd things in my lfve, Hage," the other man replied after echoing the sigh. "This, however…does sound stranger than most."

Rall nodded before adding quietly, "At least you believe me, if only a little." He sighed again, raking a hand through his short bangs. "It will take far more time to get my son to believe any of us."

"Your son?" asked Damas. He blinked, coming to a realization. "Is that why your wife was…" He stopped to think of a more flattering way of describing her near-insane actions, "hysterical? Your son _died_? Or—rather—had _been_ dead?"

Rall nodded, forcing the lump this topic had brought back down his throat with a rough swallow. Behind his spectacles, the pale blue eyes went slightly distant. "Ten years ago, yes."

"And he's returned, after all this time…" Deep purple eyes widened as they came to another frightening conclusion. "How…how long have _I_ been gone, Hage?"

Instantly the former scientist came back down to earth, turning back to Damas. "Uh, nearly two years, M'lord."

"Two…_years_?"

The Hessian nodded. "Nearly on the eve of the end of what's now called the Daystar War." Watching his Highness' face fall on the statement made it hard for Rall to keep going. He _really_ hated being the bearer of bad news, especially to his former king. "You, uh…were found…a week or so after by—" The man cut himself off with a quick shake of his head. The knot forming in the base of his stomach wouldn't allow him to continue. "Forgive me, M'lord. I don't mean to trouble you any more than you already are."

"Found," Damas muttered a reply, hardly hearing the plea for forgiveness. "As in…_found_." The king brought a weathered hand to his head. "Dear Precursors, I actually did die?"

Rall closed his eyes, bowing his head slightly. "I'm sorry, M'lord."

Suddenly Damas gave a jerk, his eyes widening and gaze almost panic stricken. "Jak. Did Jak…?" He looked upon the younger man, frightened urgency in his voice. "Did he also…?"

"Jak?" asked Rall, confused. "Are you asking if _he_ has died, M'lord?"

Damas gave a single, quick nod. "Are you—_were_ you acquainted with him? Is he—_was_ he all right?"

Rall shook his head. "Do not worry, M'lord, Jak is fine. He and Herz—my second son, the one you've yet to meet—are well acquainted. The last I was informed, he was in Spargus."

The king let out a heavy, thankful sigh of relief as he leaned upon the wall he had been almost afraid to touch only minutes before. He was very grateful it didn't give way beneath him as he greatly needed the support. "Thank the Precursors…" he breathed. "It would have all been rather pointless if he hadn't made it to the core. If he'd…died…" Damas closed his eyes, muttering under his breath, "It would have been Mar all over again."

"Sire?" asked Rall, confused by the unexpected reaction as well as only catching a fraction of what was said under the king's breath.

Damas didn't hear him; he was miles away, recalling the last few moments he could before the black out in his memory—the last few moments before his death? For some reason that realization didn't bother him as much as it would have minutes ago. Jak was safe. For some reason that made him so very happy. And yet…the scare of believing he had died lingered.

"If I'd lost Jak, if I'd let him down too…" Damas just shook his head.

-----

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

Koe shook his head, kicking lightly off the wall he'd been waiting against. "'S fine," he replied, more out of courtesy than friendliness. He hadn't forgotten who the guy now walking beside him was pretending to be. Koe still didn't like that they were traveling together.

He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, though, as he noticed his randomly new clothes.

"What's with the outfit?" he asked, motioning to the tan pants and blue jacket the taller man now wore. Instantly the wannabe-Hessian's face flattened.

"It's my _uniform_," he replied, disdain practically dripping from his voice. Then he'd taken off, leading Koe, he thought, back to where his parents were staying. Perhaps an hour ago, he would have begun wondering again what exactly his parents were doing in that slummer's home.

His thoughts now, though, were very much elsewhere.

That briefing…had shaken him. The youth still didn't know what was going on—and it was becoming apparent that he was in a rather large boat with the rest of the city on that point—but he couldn't deny anymore that…his parents _could_ be right.

Torn had outright _said_ they'd all been dead. The six-hundred in that room had been _dead_. And now he was starting to believe it.

He hadn't at first. In fact, he'd done his best to block it out. But…then Merfy had stood up.

Keri Merf had been one of Koe's few friends in the guard and the only one he spoke to when off duty. Merfy had always hated his first name—it was pretty girly and really didn't fit him for how large he was. And the guy was large—packing a good 210 around the middle. He'd gone by his last name for as long as Koe had known him.

'_Had _known him' because…well, Koe had been there when Merfy died. He'd been one of the first they lost when the attack on Old Sandover started. One of the big nasties had caught him with its tail, crushing his armor around him. Now, if they'd had any of healers they'd been promised, Merf would probably have lived but…he hadn't.

And Koe _knew_ he hadn't because he'd _watched_ him internally bleed to death.

…But Merf had been there.

Everyone had been there. Merf and Giu and Marus…everyone. And they'd all stared at each other with the same confusion Koe was feeling now.

Koe was brought out of his rather distressed thoughts at the realization that the Pseudo-Herz was staring at him with those unnaturally green eyes. He was smiling too, like just the fact they were walking together made him happy. He'd done this all the way to the headquarters too, despite all the glares the younger of the two shot him.

"Sorry," the taller man said quickly once Koe's brown eyes met his. He quickly looked away, focus now back on where they were going.

But he was still smiling.

It was an awkward, embarrassed expression, but very happy at the same time. It…could be his brother's smile. Could be…but probably wasn't. Koe wasn't going there, not just yet.

The comfortable silence the two had been walking up to this point dissolved into something far more suffocating. The shorter of the two was the first to break it, motioning to the manila envelope his wannabe brother was now carrying—one that, much like his new clothes, he hadn't had when they'd arrived.

"What's in there?" he asked. Innocent question. Pseudo-Herz apparently didn't like it much.

"My assignment," was the sour reply. He was also making that face again, the one he'd made before the briefing and afterwards when the 'Commander' had led him off somewhere, leaving Koe to wait at the front of the building. That face that, quite frankly, looked like he just realized he'd stepped in Yakkow dung wearing sandals. "I have to traffic these papers to Spargus and Kras and _then_ come back and track down all the guys who didn't come to the meeting today." Pseudo-Herz wrinkled his nose. "And I'm sure Torn has something else planned once I get _that_ done."

"Don't complain about that kind of job," Koe stated with a frown. Sure, he had no idea where or what the heck the man was talking about when he said "Spargus" or "Kras", but just delivering something didn't sound like it was worth that face he was making. There were worse assignments someone in the 'Guard could get, and he'd done more than he'd like to think about. This sounded easy.

"But this _isn't_ my job. Torn has to have other couriers to do this kinda crap. He has no right to give this to me." The older of the two frowned down at the papers. "I shouldn't have let him push these on me. This isn't my job—I _quit_."

Koe watched the taller man for a long moment, long enough to where he thought Koe had no intention of replying. Then he did. "When'd you quit?"

Pseudo-Herz blinked, turning to stare down at him. Obviously he hadn't expected Koe to fuel the conversation, especially after all that fire and brimstone about how much he hated being around him on the way over to HQ. The 'I hate Torn' face bled away into a face splitting grin. "W-When I moved to Kras," he replied happily. "Almost…_Makers_, two years ago."

The should-be elder Hessian rose an eyebrow. "_'Makers'_?" he asked, skepticism in his voice. "Who the hell says _'Makers'_?"

Pseudo-Herz frowned, smile not leaving his eyes. "_I_ do, that's who."

"Well, obviously." Now Koe was kind of grinning. "You've used it a couple times now. But why? Say 'Precursors' or 'Mar' like any _normal_ person."

"Well, it's a little hard," Pseudo-Herz replied, flipping his hand out palm up. "Seeing as I kinda _know_ both, it's a little weird swearing to either. 'Specially when one's an asshole."

Obviously Koe wasn't convinced.

"You know Mar."

"_A_ Mar," corrected the taller man. "And two Precursors, actually. One currently won't speak to me, though. The other I haven't seen in a looooong time." Koe just shook his head.

"You're just full of lies," he stated, crossing his arms and looking ahead once again.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, to Koe's surprise, the Pseudo-Herz started snickering.

"What?" he asked, confused. "What's funny?"

"I have _never_ been accused of _that_," Pseudo-Herz chuckled. Though he wouldn't admit it, Koe was almost _certain_ those green eyes had become brighter. Just a bit, but definitely brighter.

And to his surprise, Koe almost believed him.

Because that's exactly what his brother might say.

Shaking his head again, this time in an attempt to clear it of such crazy thoughts, Koe went back to looking ahead. By now the strange, new sector of the city the Headquarters had been in—where the water slums _should_ have been—had fallen away and they were right back in the slums. Only, Koe could tell they weren't heading back to the house where his parents were apparently staying. He'd paid an almost painful amount of attention on the walk over to his surroundings, mainly to discourage the freak beside him from starting any conversations, and knew they'd just missed a turn or two.

Finally, he couldn't take it. He had to bite.

"Where are we going?" he asked in an almost exasperated tone.

"Nowhere," came the reply, one Koe didn't trust any further than he could throw the one who'd given it. And, despite how much the thought of hurling his lengthy guide appealed to him, he decided he'd just have to figure out this one on his own.

Koe hadn't been assigned to patrolling the slums in a long time, mainly due to his more gentle approach when dealing with citizens. See, 'Guards were supposed to be docile when it came to dealing with those in the industrial district. That district held citizens that were upright, hard working, paid their taxes on time and were too well-fed to even think of resisting. Slummers were a different story. To the Baron, these people needed as much discipline as he could afford to give.

And that was quite a lot of discipline.

And as a Krimzon Guard, Koe was supposed to dish discipline out by the truck load. Thing was, the teen wasn't as quick to forget where he'd grown up once he entered the 'Guard as others. The slums had been his home for as long as he could remember and he _knew_ people there. Because of this, he tended to be too 'soft' for the job of patrolling around them. And as such, hadn't had a reason to stick around the slums for almost a year and a half now. He didn't know it as well as he used to…

But it looked like they were heading in the direction of the temple district—Old Sandover.

Koe said as much and the Pseudo-Herz flinched, realizing he'd been found out.

"I just think you should see it," he confessed, giving the shorter teen an almost guilty smile.

"Don't want to," Koe almost snapped. By some miracle, he'd escaped the hell Old Sandover had become and he had _no_ intentions of going back into it any time soon. He stopped, crossing his arms.

"Koe, c'mon," urged his wannabe brother. When he shook his head, Pseudo-Herz heaved an almost annoyed sigh. "Please? It'll only take a moment."

"Don't see why I should," came the course reply. Now Pseudo-Herz was frowning, noting the distinct lack of pronouns at the beginning of those replies.

Koe had always had a habit of dropping those when he was feeling uncomfortable…

But then an idea flickered into existence.

"Koe, _please_, we're almost there." The green-haired man just a ways in front of him leaned forward, just slightly sticking out his marred bottom lip, insanely emerald eyes somehow growing in size.

…Oh, Koe _knew_ that face. There was no way he couldn't have. It was Herz's trump card and no matter how many times he used it, the only person who could refuse it was their mother. Koe and Rall? Couldn't help butcave.

Just for a moment, the man in front of Koe wasn't a man anymore, but a ten-year-old brat, his green hair messy and short and brown eyes huge under a pair of eyebrows way too large for his face.

And Koe caved.

"Fine," he nearly snapped, practically storming back over to the taller man. Herz broke into a grin—

…

_Pseudo-Herz_ broke into a grin and continued down around the corner, looking far too proud of himself for Koe's liking.

Why the hell had he listened, he asked himself as he followed. Why had he fallen for that look? And on someone _older_ than him, too! It was stupid. And just because he made that face didn't mean he was Herz. Anyone could make croca-pup eyes, come on. That didn't mean—

Koe blinked, mind stopping. Why were they in an alley?

Pseudo-Herz, oblivious to the other man's confusion, kept walking until he came to a pot-hole near the city wall and, to Koe's surprise, jumped right down inside it. As Koe approached it, he realized that the pothole led to a security door in the wall. He raised a green eyebrow.

"Sure this leads to Old Sandover?"

"I don't know about Old Sandover," Pseudo-Herz threw over his shoulder, "but it sure leads to Dead Town."

"Dead Town?" Koe repeated the title under his breath as he hopped down into the hole. The door was already lurching into life—Pseudo-Herz had pulled a security patch out of that envelope and used it to open it as Koe landed beside him. Both stood and watched as the gears jerked around and away from one another, unlocking the metal plate.

Once it slid away and both walked through, Koe was confused. For about a minute.

Then his eyes caught on the towers in the distance and his stomach fell to his knees.

It was suddenly very, very hard to breathe.

The 'Guard took a shaky step forward, eyes wide as he took in his surroundings. Polluted water, rotting wood, destroyed buildings…But he could tell where he was.

This _was_ Old Sandover. Or…what was left of it.

Dead Town was right.

But what had happened?! They had been defending it! It was still standing when he…

…had he really died? Was this place rubble because he'd…

Koe continued to stare as his legs gave out, and he fell to his knees.

-----

The door of the Hessian household swung open a little more violently than necessary, instantly alerting the mother currently cooped up in the kitchen as to who had just invaded her household.

"Welcome home," Doe called as she removed her hands from the soapy sink to grab the dish towel hanging about eye level from the railing above her soaking dishes. Yes, she had been doing the dishes while her boys—plural!—had been out. It was something normal for her to do, and that normality gave her comfort. So sue the woman. The ex-Marauder poked her head out of the doorway to see her sons file in, Herz first and Koe just a step or so behind. The latter was, for some reason, back in his FLG uniform and already taking notice to his half-asleep husband on the couch. The former…

The former looked shell-shocked, and that was the best way Doe could describe it. He also looked, quite frankly, like he needed a hug.

And, while his mother was not known to dish such things out as readily as others, once she'd dried her hands, Koe found himself in her arms whether he wanted to be there or not.

"Mom," whispered Koe, the faintest hints of a blush crossing his cheeks. He still hadn't gotten used to the sudden maternal love, but Doe was going to give it even if he _didn't_ want it. Or like it. He could deal.

…She'd never admit it, but this hug was as much for herself as it was for her son.

"Mom," echoed Herz just a second later, tone much more accusing. She turned just as he motioned to Razer who was beginning to stir on the couch and the mug sitting on the coffee table in front of him. "What'd you do, finally get fed up and drug him?"

Doe scoffed. "Tempting, but no. I couldn't make coffee so I gave him tea. And he's officially a tea lightweight."

"And bored out of my _mind_," interjected Razer as he rose from where he'd been lying his head on the couch's armrest, the entire cheek that had been pressed to it a flushed pink instead of its usual ivory. He held his tattooed hand to his head, obviously still a bit drowsy. "I believe that was my…fourth mug. Your mother's tea is ridiculously calming," he stated, turning to Herz.

Herz who was trying not to laugh from the pressure-mark blotch taking up most of his lover's face.

The mention of the Doe's tea sobered him, though, enough to where he made the usual sour face associated with the drink. "Wouldn't know," he responded. "I don't like her tea."

"You never have," put in Koe, suddenly. All eyes swiftly squared on him, the three owners surprised. There was a moment of silence, one filled with much blinking, that was broken when Herz bust into a huge grin.

"You're right!" he almost crowed. "I haven't."

Doe smiled. Seemed her boys had done some talking on the way to and back. And if Koe's expression was any indication, at least some sense had been knocked into that thick head of his.

…Sweet mother of Mar, she'd missed this boy.

Without warning, her arms circled tighter, smashing her first-born into a Metalhead-worthy hug. Koe, not in any way expecting this, began twitching just slightly. Leaning over the couch, his brother covered his mouth to keep from laughing.

"I'm so glad," Doe whispered, not even contemplating her son might need air. Her arms tightened again and Koe was certain his back popped. "I've missed you _so much_."

Across the room, Herz had to tear his eyes from his mother and brother. It was a touching, surreal moment for certain, but Koe was making such a face that the technically-older son couldn't even attempt to keep his own straight. So, as to not ruin the moment, he turned back to his husband.

"Torn gave me my assignment," he told Razer in a hushed tone. "Well…_our _assignment. We need to leave for Spargus pretty soon."

Razer raised a thin eyebrow as his lover presented the manila folder holding the documents for transport. "And why exactly are _we_ required to do this? I was certain you had quit. Or was it you were fired? I am still quite confused on that point. Either way, you should not have to do Torn or the Baroness' work for them."

"I don't think it matters any more," the young man replied with a sigh. "'Sides, I can't exactly take them back now. We have to get these to Spargus. Next stop is Kras, where I think we should spend some time to pack—I can bet that jerk is going to have me doing laps up and down this city for a while."

Razer rolled his eco-green eyes. "Wonderful…" Then those eyes narrowed in a confused squint. "…what are you wearing?"

And Koe continued to twitch.

"Mom…mom…_mom_…Mom!"

Doe sighed before reluctantly loosening her hold. "Please, don't ruin my fun," she stated, unable to completely squash her smile. Actually, nothing short of another fit of hysteria could wipe her tiredly happy grin from its place. Still finding this entire situation ridiculously ludicrous, Koe decided it was time for a subject change.

"Where's Dad?"

Herz blinked, returning his focus to the rest of his family. "Yeah, Mom, where is he?"

"Off finding the king, I think," she said with a slight wave of her hand. One of Herz's thick eyebrows shot upwards, disappearing further under his dark hair.

"The _king_?"

Doe nodded. "King Damas," the older woman replied, like Herz _should_ have known that and she was almost ashamed that he didn't. This was a much more normal tone for her, so both sons were beginning to hope she'd moved away from the crying thing for good. "Apparently your father picked him up on his lunch break or…something."

"King _Damas_?" Herz repeated, unbelieving. Razer tilted his head to the side.

"Who?"

"_The_ King Damas?" the scarred young man pushed. Doe nodded while Razer continued to look confused.

"_Who_ is this king?" he asked, frustration evident in his tone and the way his eyebrows were beginning to form a perfect line.

As if on cue, the door opened and in sauntered the father of the household followed by a slightly taller man in a loincloth. One of the racer's eyebrows broke from the line to shoot towards his slicked back hair.

That was one _interesting _outfit.

"Ah! Everyone is here," Rall said in an excited tone. He turned to the man behind him and motioned towards his second—but currently eldest—son, grinning. "This is Herz, who I was telling you about." The man nodded, smiling.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," the white-haired visitor said, inclining his head just slightly towards the youth. Herz just stared.

"A-Are you _Damas_?" he asked. Before the king could finish his nod, Herz had taking several quick steps forward, grabbed his hand, and begun to shake it enthusiastically. "Cool!" the young man cried, smile quite literally splitting his face in two thanks to his scars. "Jak's told me _so _much about you. It's great to meet you! Oh man, is he gonna be happy to see _you_!"

His Highness blinked but after a moment brought back his smile.

"So you do know him," the king stated.

Still on the couch, Razer was now trying to figure out _where_ he'd heard the name 'Damas' before. He was almost certain it was from Jak, now that his husband had mentioned the man but…beyond that he was drawing a complete blank. This was officially going to drive him insane, he just knew it.

"Yup!" Herz replied, oblivious—as usual—to his husband's mental plight. "About to go see him actually!" The green-haired man blinked, realizing the implications of what he'd just said. He spun around just slightly to look to his partner now brooding on the couch. "Razer, would you mind an extra passenger?"

Koe, still being held by his mother, realized he _still_ didn't know who the man on their sofa was and frowned.

The aforementioned man's somewhat girly ears perked slightly at being addressed. He looked between Herz and the apparent king. Then he got it and broke into a small grin. "No, I do not think I would mind adding royalty to our cargo."

Herz spun back around. His grin was now all business. "Sir, would you like a ride back to Spargus?"

------


	7. Movement

**Disclaimers:**

The _Jak and Daxter _game series and all related elements _© Naughty Dog Incorporated_

Herz, Doe and Koe Hessian, Rall Hage/Hessian, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and most named KG _© Blu_

Rheanon and Seima Llast and most named Precursors _© Laina_

Rfena Veras, Azalea Mirithir, Giu Avaar, Keela Sevah, and Aelyn Adalla _© Taitai_

Veer Shurra, Melir Varhaden, Kisan Acheron, Emori Geel, Makao Lurish, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and Rune Thian _© Nashi_

------

**Authors' Notes: **We—meaning Blu and Nashi—changed something! We've gone back and done some minor revisions to all earlier chapters—just spelling and whatnot in most cases, but with a couple exceptions. Chapters one and four have been drastically revised and reworked, to the point that chapter four has an entire new scene in it. (This scene features Gol and Maia and Kisan, so I'm sure you all want to read it. …No, really, you should totally go back and reread it. It's cool.)

------

**Seven: Movement**

------

"Yeah, I just finished the briefing over here. Does your friend have any new information for us on what's going on?"

"**Not right now she doesn't,**" Jak replied over the comm., heaving a sigh. "**Apparently she passed out when the Flash hit and hasn't woken up yet.**"

The Freedom League commander's bare brow furrowed, geometric marks of grey drawing together slightly. That was _not_ a good thing. There were a total of three people on the planet that knew enough about Precursors and the insanity they always seemed to drop on this planet to have any possible clue what had happened here, none of whom were currently available, apparently.

One was Rheanon Llast, who claimed to have been one of the things once upon a time—though, honestly, Torn doubted it. But then, Torn doubted a lot of things. In any case, Ashelin had only recently managed to get ahold of the girl, and she had yet to show up at HQ. Another was Onin, who was not only unconscious, but hospitalized. The woman was old and frail enough without getting a shock to her system hard enough to throw her heart into severe arrhythmia. She was stable, now, but there was no telling when she'd wake up again. The third was Seem Kiaryn, the soothsayer's granddaughter and head of the Golden Order of Precursor Monks out in the Wasteland, who was apparently also unconscious.

Seem would probably be the best to talk to regarding this, at least as far as explanation went. Rheanon had a habit of explaining things as though everyone should have known what she was saying already, which—while quite understandable, given her own supposed background—was more than a little aggravating. Onin only spoke in riddles, laced with the dripping sarcasm of her brightly-feathered interpreter. Seem gave simple, if often painfully blunt, explanations. You asked her something, she answered.

If anyone would be able to figure out what was going on, and explain it in such a way that the military over here would be able to understand, it was Seem.

"Any clue when she'll be up again?" He asked.

Torn could almost hear Jak shake his head in reply, and officially decided he'd been around the kid too much. "**No idea. The others monks are saying that—**" he broke off for a second, and Torn heard murmuring in the background. "**Never mind, she's awake! Dax and I'll go talk to her, and then I'll call you back.**"

"Copy that," Torn responded, and then the call cut out.

The brunet finally allowed himself to sigh, dropping his comm. onto his desk and leaning his head in his hand. Precursors, he had a headache. Maybe two, actually. At the moment he just wanted to climb into bed and stay there for a decade or so. God knew he could use some sanity over here.

"…Sir?"

Torn jerked from his stupor and turned to the door, where he found that, for the second time today, it had been Rfena to yank him back into reality. The redhead stood in the doorway to his office with a sizeable stack of papers in her arms.

"I…uh…I have some re-enlistment paperwork from some of the…people." There had to be a term to use for this, really, but apparently no one had managed to think one up yet. Absently Torn mused on what these returned, even resurrected, people could be referred to, to differentiate them from the general populace.

The Resurrected? Too long. Way too long. Resurr…rezz…

Rezzers?

…Torn realized after a second how stupid that sounded, and how stupid it was that he was even debating on such a thing right now. He could figure out a name for them later, right now he had paperwork to do.

"Just drop it over here on my desk, I'll get to it in a minute."

Normally, Torn _liked_ paperwork. Paperwork wouldn't kill you, paperwork was clear and concise and understandable, and paperwork didn't have a habit of plotting ambushes and betrayals when you weren't looking.

Or it hadn't until now. Having to read the names of the dead, the names of people that had been buried or lost but mourned for all the same, in paperwork requesting to be put back into active duty, felt more than a little like an ambush.

The fight for Old Sandover, the fight that created Dead Town, had been over for a decade. And yet here it was, back again to bite him in the ass.

And he had thought the Daystar War was hard to deal with…

"Would you like some aspirin?" Rfena set down the stack of papers on the desk just in front of him in a manner that was entirely businesslike, but there was concern evident in her yellow eyes and her tone. "No offense, but you look like hell."

"Thanks, Rfena, that's awfully nice of you to say." He rubbed at his eyes and yawned slightly, his drawn features tightening. He placed a hand on the stack of papers and heaved a sigh. "Yeah, aspirin would be great." And with that, he pulled the first bunch off the top of the stack and started reading.

------

Razer officially disliked the desert. Well, he always had, actually—Northerner or no, weather of any extreme was rather high up on the racer's _I Never Want to Experience This If I Do Not Have To_ list—but in this case there was a lot more aggravation involved than the heat alone could cause.

At least it was possible to drive here now, rather than being forced to take an Air Train across the channel separating this land mass from Haven's. Overall Ashelin was doing a bang-up job keeping contact easy between the few major cities left on the planet, and in doing so she had made certain that a bridge—not a superbridge like the one that linked Haven to Kras, but a decently-sized piece of construction anyway—had been built to allow travel between Haven and Spargus relatively unimpeded. There were other bridges, of course, secret links from place to place, but this was official business and so official routes had to be taken.

"I still cannot believe you accepted reassignment," he said, glancing sideways at his husband as they finally made it off the bridge and onto the sand, tearing across the desert. "I wish you had let me go with you to that meeting, I would have told Torn off for you."

"I know, I know," the younger man said, rolling his eyes. "But, y'know, as much as I hate Torn, I guess I don't mind helping out if I can." He smiled. "Besides, it's not like he told me you couldn't come along or anything—he actually gave _orders_ for you to do the driving. That was kinda cool."

"Feh." The black-haired man turned the steering wheel to slide through the sand, avoiding an outcrop of rock that would _not_ have been at good thing to scrape over. "He only did it because he knows I am fast. He never once beat me in the races, you know."

"Who did?" Herz replied with a chuckle.

Razer glanced sideways at the younger man, arching both eyebrows, and they spoke at the same time.

"_Jak_."

"Speaking of Jak," Herz glanced back into the little-used back seat of Razer's car, grinning broadly. "He's going to be _really_ happy to see you. Your Highness. Sir."

Damas had been silent for most of the trip so far, quite content to sit back and think, occasionally picking up on the comfortable banter between the racer and the courier currently ferrying him back home. It was…odd, being driven somewhere, sitting in the back of a vehicle he didn't know with two people he'd never seen in his life. Not necessarily _bad_, of course—Herz _was_ Rall Hage's son—but certainly strange.

"If you don't mind my asking," the Wasteland king said at last, "how do you know Jak?" This was a topic that he had wanted to breach for a while, but had known better than to try until there was a break in conversation between the two men in the front.

This whole day was more bizarre than the aging man could explain, the last thing he wanted was to make it uncomfortable by interjecting to ask something that, really, he would likely have plenty of time to hear about from Jak himself later.

But he had been addressed, and it would be nice to take part in a conversation for a while. Take his mind off all this madness.

"Uh…" The young man cast his bright eyes downward slightly. "He and I go back a ways," he explained, reaching up to scratch at his scarred right cheek. He lifted his eyes again and smiled, the expression just slightly forced. "He and I actually didn't get too close until almost two years back —a little over a year and a half, I guess—when he was racing in Kras."

Kleiver had spoken of the Kras City races once or twice, as had Sig, but Damas wasn't aware they had ever accepted entry from foreigners. Well, aside from the Northern Marauders. Kleiver had complained about that often enough. If you had black hair, you were in. If you didn't, and you weren't from Kras, there was no way to break into the ranks without doing some rather shady business first. And for a while beforehand.

The stipulations weren't surprising, though—Damas was unaware that anyone in Haven was even aware of Kras City's existence anymore. But then, it had been two years since he…since he was forced to stop keeping track of current events, as it were.

"He, _Torn_," Herz continued, spitting the commander's name as though it had left some rank flavor on his tongue, "and the Baroness were kinda in need of another alternate—mainly so the other teammates could finally take a break from getting the snot blown out of them by Ashelin."

"Praxis' daughter has always had a bit of a rough streak, hasn't she?" Damas inquired, giving a flicker of a smile. "She can be quite the ruffian, or so I've been told."

Herz nodded emphatically. "You were told right, trust me on that. Anyway, they needed a break from her—I ended up showing up to deliver some paperwork, and hung around for a while, so…" He shrugged, chuckling almost nervously. "Yeah, I wasn't all that good, though."

Razer rolled his eyes and scoffed again, taking a slightly harder turn. Apparently, if Damas could read the signals correctly, that had been a point of debate for a while. He wondered if the young man before him was really very good at racing.

The green-haired man caught his partner's motion and grinned. "_But_," he amended, green eyes casting sideways, "that's how I met Razer. Who wouldn't leave me the heck _alone_."

"Ha," the Northerner responded, "like you wanted to be left alone."

"I thought I did, at the time."

"And you were wrong," Razer retorted.

Herz's grin broadened. "Obviously." He put a hand on the man's tattooed shoulder. "Thank the Makers."

Damas looked between them for a second, then something in his thought process clicked and suddenly his curiosity over what sort of relationship there was between the young Havenite and the significantly-older Northerner was sated. "Oh," he breathed, sitting back in his seat again.

Herz turned to look at him again, hand dropping from Razer's shoulder. "What?"

"Nothing," Damas shook his head, still wearing the faintest hint of a smile. "Nothing at all."

Herz didn't look convinced.

The king just changed the subject. "So, how has Jak been since—since the war?"

It was Razer that supplied the answer this time. "Spectacular," he said with a grin, eyes still focused on the desert stretching out ahead of them. "He won the last Kras City Racing Championship, little over a year ago, and afterward he apparently headed back to Spargus. I have not seen him since, but I think Herz has spoken with him once or twice." He slanted the younger man a look. "Mein Herz?"

"Last time I talked to him he was doing fine," Herz smiled, still looking back. "He's…uh…he's missed you, though, so I'm sure he'll throw a fit when we get to Spargus. Lots of catching up to do, right?"

"I suppose so…" Damas said, violet eyes casting sideways to look out at the desert, at the sand and stone that had been his home for so long, that he had helped to tame with his own two hands.

And as he looked out, he couldn't help but wonder if the Monks at the Temple had truly been burning incense for him for the last two years, if Sig or Jak or Seem carried a small amount of his ashes on a leather band around their neck, like he had for his wife until three years after her death.

It was an unsettling thought.

------

"I'm afraid," Seem whispered, still laying back on her bed and bundled in soft, light blankets of brown and gold, "that I have no idea what's happened either. From what you have told me, I would assume it has something to do with the Precursors—them being the only beings capable of resurrecting the dead."

Jak nodded. "That's what everyone back in Haven figures, too."

"But if this was all done by the Precursors," Daxter interjected, sitting at the foot of Seem's bed, "then why the _hell_'d they bring _Praxis_ back? Shouldn't they want 'im to stay dead as much as we do? Considerin' what he tried t'do with the Stone an' all…"

Seem sighed and shook her head, a lock of white coming loose from the broad unshaven strip of hair on her pale head, the rest pulled back into its customary tail. "I don't know, Orange Lightning," she said softly. "We will research this matter to the best of our abilities; we will even reopen the old libraries down below if we must." Her scarlet eyes cast to Jak and she almost—_almost_—smiled. "When we find something, I will contact you."

She lifted a slender, nearly-white hand—not pure white, though, currently free of the body paint she covered herself with during ceremonies and her ventures outside, where it served both to mark her as a member of the order and to protect her too-pale skin from the torturous sun—in signal for the blue-grey-haired young woman standing at her door to come closer.

"Kidinga," she said, waving her hand between Jak and Daxter, "please escort these two back to their vehicle, and then hail Mahk and, with him, check our records for any information we may have to clear up the mystery of this situation."

The woman bowed. "Yes, Mistress." Then she turned to Jak and gestured toward the door.

Jak chuckled and shook his head. "Okay, we're going. C'mon, Dax." He rose to his feet and held out his arm for the ottsel to climb up. Once again Daxter took his customary seat on Jak's coppery shoulderplate.

"You really need t'stop kickin' us out, y'know," Daxter said, his grin belying his words. "S'rude as hell."

"So is swearing in the presence of a holy person," Seem replied, not missing a beat.

"Fiiiiine. Sorry."

Jak shrugged his left shoulder in silent request for Daxter to stop. When he did, the hero turned his attention back to the High Priest. "Thanks, Seem, I'll let Sig and Torn know you're on it."

"If there is any other assistance we can grant, don't hesitate to contact me."

"Got it," Jak replied as Kidinga started urging him out again. He made it out the door, then turned around and leaned back in. "And, hey, I hope you feel better soon. The headache should go away in about an hour or so. Or at least it did for me."

"Thank you, Mar."

Once again the blond nodded and turned around, heading down the hall in the elder lady monk's wake. His smile had fallen as soon as he was out of Seem's eyeshot, and he heaved a sigh.

It was finally starting to sink in.

Praxis. Back from the dead. _Praxis_.

The world was officially—again—a very, _very_ dangerous place to be.

------

Rheanon took a deep breath and straightened her stance, spine protesting at the motion and vision blurring slightly. High Creators, she was tired. Who knew a little overload would leave her so drained? She was still better off than Onin, though, whose tent she had stopped by on her way to the Freedom League Headquarters, only to discover that the old woman wasn't there.

Pecker had been almost hysterical, and apparently Onin had been carted off to the hospital almost two hours ago. She didn't get along especially well with the monkaw, but it was sad to see him so frazzled. So, taking pity on the creature, she had helped him to actually close up the tent, sealing off the important objects so that no one would get it into their heads that anything in here was worth stealing, and then walked him to within a block of the hospital now that he had no reason to stay away.

Since then she had been making her way back toward Headquarters, and it hadn't been fun. Without Pecker's chatter to keep her mind occupied, she had been forced to focus far too much on the residual haze of pain settled over her skeleton and still flickering through her nerves when she moved just so.

But she had made it—albeit late—and with one final breath in she stepped forward, through the door and into Ashelin's office. Inside she found the redhead sitting at her desk, apparently discussing something at length with Vin and Keira. All three figures turned to face her when she stepped in, and the Precurian couldn't help but feel a little weaker at the sight of Vin standing there, goggles pushed up into his blue-streaked white hair and too-blue eyes as wide as ever and visible now as they hadn't been for years.

It hadn't really sunk in what she had done, what the Precursors had done, until that moment. Vin was alive. _Vin_, whose body—remains, really—she had helped to put to rest after the Hora Quan had been pushed back from the more important portions of the city, was _alive_. He'd returned through a digital construct a couple years back, but it wasn't the same.

She never thought she'd be so happy to see the man reach up to chew on his fingernails.

She swallowed, blinking rapidly, and forced herself to salute, hand coming up to her brow. "Rheanon Llast reporting for duty, Baroness."

Ashelin gave her a long look. Keira glanced between the two of them, more than able to sense the tension in the air, and Vin looked about ready to dive under a table and hide. But then, Vin usually looked like that.

"Reporting for duty two hours late," the Baroness stated.

"I got sidetracked."

"You promised an explanation, and because you weren't here to give one, we couldn't tell anyone anything." Ashelin said curtly.

"I'm sorry. But I did promise, and I intend to keep my word," the white-haired woman replied. "Do you want the long or short version?"

Ashelin leaned back in her chair and crossed her hands over each other. "Give me the long version. I'll come up with a short one to give everyone else."

Rheanon nodded, closed her eyes, took a breath, and jumped in. "If my memory serves me correctly, the Precursors have been working for a while on a method to restore balance to the planet…"

------

"Where did you say we were, again?" Erol inquired, looking around as Veer led him through a very bizarrely constructed city. It was all sand and stone and panels of recycled metal—the entire place a piecemeal of castoff supplies. The former commander's head snapped back when he caught a signature flash of red in the corner of his vision, and his brow furrowed at the panel of Hellcat armor that had been hammered flat and bolted on the side of a house.

Where in the world was he?

He had always known there were people out in the Wasteland—the most hardened and unbalanced bunch of people he had ever seen—but he had no idea the population was so great. He had found his barely-useful assistant out here, but when he had questioned the young Melir Varhaden she simply shaken her head and murmured that there were some out in the desert, but not many. Too few, she had always said, and too many with bad blood. Everyone out here was at least a little bit crazy.

For some reason, that thought made Erol feel very out of place right now.

It didn't help that upon pulling into the carport between the city and the desert, Veer had tied Erol's hands together at the wrists with a length of leather cord. They were tied at his front, at least, so he could get free with a little work, but that didn't make him feel any better. This entire day had just been one weird occurrence after the other, and being treated as a prisoner didn't make him appreciate it any more.

At this point, he was beginning to feel the he should have just stayed buried in the sand. However the hell it was that he got there.

"Spargus," Veer replied with a glance back. He gave a light tug on the cord that ran from Erol's bound wrists to his bracer—a leash, of sorts—to get Erol to speed up a little. "An' I think yah should hurry up if y'wanna get t'the palace without gettin' maimed."

Erol quirked an eyebrow. "What in the world for? I don't even know any of these people."

"Doesn't change what yah tried t'do."

Again the man blinked. "…What?"

Veer rolled his eyes. "Doesn't matter right now. Hurry up."

------

"**So what you're telling me is that you've got nothing.**"

Jak sighed as he pulled into the Spargus carport, sliding the Sand Shark into its space. "No," he replied, "what I'm telling you is that the monks are on it. We should have some more information in a couple hours."

"**Keira called earlier to say that Llast is working on explaining things to Ashelin,**" Torn offered. "**Whenever she's done talking, I'll call you back and let you know.**"

"Thanks," came the blond's somewhat surprised answer. That was odd. Normally Torn wouldn't offer information before he had it, not unless he had some ulterior motive.

"**I want you to explain that to Sig, just in case things have gone to hell over there too. Ashelin and I've both tried to get through to him, but I think his comm.'s flooded.**"

…Oh, okay. That explained it.

"Will-do, Pinstripes!" Daxter said. "An' hey, tell Tess hi for me, wouldja? Check up on her an' the 'Ottsel?"

Torn was silent for a long moment. Then, "**…Shit. Tess. Right, whatever, over and out.**" The line went dead, and Jak and Daxter exchanged a worried look. Neither of them had seen Tess in a couple weeks, although Daxter called her almost daily. Torn's response to hearing her name twisted a knot into the ottsel's insides.

Jak got out of his vehicle and waited for Daxter to hop onto his shoulderplate before he started toward the secondary gates. "I'm sure she's fine, Dax. Don't worry."

Tess was tougher than most girls—even after being turned into an ottsel without warning she was still a serious force to be reckoned with—and that made it a little difficult for Jak to worry about her. Daxter still got into a hell of a lot more scrapes than she did, even though she was the one that really seemed interested in jumping into the most dangerous situations. She was just Tess, and Tess was _always_ fine.

"She better be…" Daxter replied quietly, brow knitted tightly. "'Cause if she's _not_—"

"She _is_," Jak interjected as the gates hissed and groaned before pulling apart. "And you can call her just as soon as we've reported in to Sig."

Jak was looking at Daxter, and therefore didn't see what it was that made the orange-furred young man cut off his nod as they started forward again, what made his eyes go wide and his jaw slacken slightly. "Oh _shit_…" the ottsel breathed.

The elder man turned, and his own eyes widened in surprise. For about half a second. Then they narrowed, reflexively deepening a shade as he ground his teeth and tried not to growl. His hands clenched into tight fists and he leaned his head forward slightly, thick braids slipping forward over his shoulders with the motion.

Well, if it wasn't his favorite color.

It had been a long time since Jak saw a real Krimzon Guard—in full armor, complete with a rifle—and the last place he ever wanted to see one was here in Spargus. Spargus was _safe_. Red was a color that did _not_ belong here, no matter what happened.

But there one stood. The man, taller than Jak and about as thick, turned to face him when Jak stopped dead in his tracks, and the young Wastelander thought he could see pale eyes widen behind those scarlet-tinted goggles. He _knew_ he could smell fear in the air, sharp and thick and bitter, sweeter than the violet eco under his skin and heavier than lead, as alluring as ever.

And _familiar_. Jak's memory wasn't the best, but the sensations etched into his mind when he went Dark were sharp, sharp enough that he knew he'd met this 'Guard before.

This was one of his. This was one of the red-armored monsters Jak had torn apart. He could feel it. He was just as afraid, just as confused, just as lost. But he was luckier this time—lucky that it had been so long since the last time Jak fought off a genuine KG. If there had been even a week less time between then and now, Jak would have just let himself go and rip out the bastard's throat. Again.

As it was, Jak gave the man a murderous glare and then stormed past him, teeth still clenched but now just a little too sharp, hands clenched into fists so tightly that his blackened fingernails carved into the palm of his gloves.

"You're okay," Daxter whispered, one hand on Jak's head and the other against the curve of his neck, tail working back and forth against his back in soothing motions. "You're just great. It's fine."

Jak turned a corner and instantly pressed backward against the wall, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to lean against the whitewashed sandstone. He let out a breath and then took another, deeper, and focused on calming himself. He tapped into the store of Light inside him, flushing out the lingering sparks of Dark in his fingertips and flashing in the back of his throat, aching behind his eyes.

Daxter continued to whisper in his ear that everything was fine, he was okay, nothing was wrong, he could calm down because there was nothing to fight, nothing to kill here, no reason to kill here…

He gave a sigh of relief when the eco-induced pain finally faded, and relaxed against the wall. That was a bad one. It had been a long time since he'd been so close to losing it that he needed Daxter to help pull him out of it.

"I'm okay," he breathed. "I'm just—just fine." He shook his head, pushing off the wall to stay upright under his own power again, and chuckled weakly. "Damn that sucked. Can't do that again."

"No, yah can't," his companion replied. "Unless yah wanna end up stuck outside for a week again."

Okay, yeah, _that_ had sucked. Royally.

…No pun intended.

So, to avoid that altogether, he pulled off his scarf and soaked a portion of it down with water from the canteen strapped to his belt. He then put the length of cloth back around his neck, this time pulling it up over his face in much the same manner he protected himself from sandstorms outside the Spargus' wall. He took an experimental breath, and caught the cool scent of water much more clearly than anything else. Good.

Daxter settled back into his seat, though one hand stayed on the far edge of Jak's shoulderplate in preparation to shove the ottsel upright again if need be, and Jak started back off toward the palace.

_Report to Sig,_ he thought to himself, as though reading off from a list of things to do,_ check in with Seem, call Torn back, and then stay the hell in my room until the KG are gone. Easy._

He could hope, at least. He knew, though, that he rarely if ever ended up being able to take the easy road through _anything_. He just had to hope that this would be the one exception.

------

Erol was officially very tired of being confused. He had actually decided he was just going to stop bothering with it anymore and take whatever was thrown at him from here on out, but this was a little bit too much to handle.

Being told that Krew's top lackey, the dark-skinned thug that patrolled the Hip Hog during busy nights, was the ruler of this pocket of what might be civilization was a little bit much to take in stride. Erol was well-acquainted with Sig, and the only person he could think of that would do worse in a leadership position than Krew's bouncer was…well, Jak. Jak would be awful in a leadership role. But he was more than a little crazy, so that was understandable.

"Y'know," Sig said, looking down at Erol with his one eye narrowed, "there's a _lot _a' stuff I wouldn't mind doin' to you right now. But after all the _shit_ you've put the folks of this planet through, I think I should let folks in Haven take care a' you. Think Torn'd like that?"

Erol blinked, brow furrowing. The people of this _planet_? Haven he could understand, though he'd actually done more protecting there than he'd done damage, for the most part, but the entire planet? He'd never even been to this Spargus place before, so he couldn't have done anything to these people. He hadn't been to Kras in years—not since he broke up with Razer—and couldn't think of anything he'd done to the people of that city either. And he'd _never_ gone up North to Wolkenburg and the other Northern Marauder cities.

How could he have done anything to the whole _planet_ if his entire life was rooted in Haven City? It made no sense.

He decided to explain as much.

"I'm sorry, but I really have no clue what you're talking about," he stated plainly. His voice was clear and surprisingly honest, his stance military-precise and his tone hinting just slightly toward sincere confusion. "I can understand you sending me back to Haven for what I did to the people there, but it's not as though I've ever been a threat to the planet at large."

Sig blinked. He turned to look at Veer, who stood not far behind Erol, still holding the end of his leash. He shook his head and shrugged. "I dunno either, Yer Lordship. Said he didn't know what he was doin' out in th'Waste either. I ain't sure he _remembers_ anythin'."

Erol's eyes narrowed. "What in the world are you talking about?" Sig looked at him again, shaking his head slowly in disbelief, and after a moment Erol folded his arms and began tapping one foot in impatience.

After a long moment of this, Veer opened his mouth to speak—only to cut off when the pulleys behind him squeaked to life and wheels began to spin. "Someone else's comin', Sig," he said, even though it was obviously not what he had initially intended. He moved away from the shaft and gave a tug on Erol's leash.

The Krimzon Guard Commander, who had turned around to look with Sig and Veer, didn't move an inch.

The elevator came up and leveled out, and the next second seemed to pass in slow motion.

Erol registered that this young man, though larger and darker and _different_ than he remembered, was Jak.

Jak mouthed Erol's name.

The rat-thing—Daxter—on Jak's shoulder hissed an oath.

Veer jerked backward.

Sig made a single step toward Jak.

And then the entire world imploded.

Jak's face twisted into an inhuman snarl, a roar scraped up from deep in his throat as his eyes flashed back his skin paling out to the color of eco-bleached bone. He lifted one hand as his fingernails turned long and sharp and black as ink, body tensing as horns surged up through his tightly-bound hair. Eco flared around him, electric and crackling and so bright it burned, and he lunged.

------


	8. Reacquainted

**Disclaimers:**

The _Jak and Daxter_ game series and all related elements _© Naughty Dog Incorporated_

Herz, Doe and Koe Hessian, Rall Hage/Hessian, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and most named KG _© Blu_

Rheanon and Seima Llast and most named Precursors _© Laina_

Rfena Veras, Azalea Mirithir, Giu Avaar, Keela Sevah, and Aelyn Adalla _© Taitai_

Veer Shurra, Melir Varhaden, Kisan Acheron, Emori Geel, Makao Lurish, Amarta Tierth, Brenna Vamilo, and Rune Thian _© Nashi_

------

**Authors' Notes:** Sorry this took so long to get out, people. Blu has had school and Nashi has had really nasty writer's block and Tai has had no internet at all, so things have been generally crazy all across the board. Here's a new chapter, though, for your reading pleasure! (And, if you _do_ take some pleasure from reading it, could you please review? It really helps with keeping our drive going to get feedback.)

------

**Eight: Reacquainted**

------

"Get 'im off!" Daxter shouted. "We've gotta calm 'im down!" He yanked at Jak's hair, a braid in either hand, but it didn't help. Jak stayed where he was, motionless save for the steady motion of his chest as he breathed.

One hand was pressed to either of Erol's arms, claws dug in deep, and one knee was pressed against the older man's abdomen, the other braced against stone under the water to keep him steady. Erol lay underneath him, head _almost_ completely under the water. He'd been lucky—if one could call it that—and upon being tackled, his head had hit one of the larger stones under the water that covered most of the throne room's floor. That same rock was the only thing keeping his head above the water now.

Jak glared down at him, bottomless black eyes sharp and intelligent—clearer than Erol remembered, more alive than he had seen before. Closer to elf than beast. The young man bared his teeth, breath heaving and sharp teeth glistening, aching to rip into Erol's throat and end him forever.

"_You shouldn't be here,_" he ground out.

Erol blinked, eyes widening. Since when was the monster Jak became capable of speech? Nothing made sense anymore.

"_You're __**dead**__. I __**killed**__ you._"

In reply, Erol gave the slightest hint of a smirk. "Well you didn't do a very good job, did you? Not if I'm right h—"

Jak dug in harder with his claws, the flow of blood into the water around them thickening instantly. Erol gave a grunt of pain when those keratin daggers finally pushed so far into the hard muscle that they scraped bone.

"Jak, cut it out!" Daxter practically shouted, giving another hard tug. "Snap out of it!"

"_Why?_" was Jak's reply, eyes narrowing to slits. "_Give me one reason not to kill this __**bastard**__ right now._"

A long moment passed, silent save for Jak's growling breaths, still save for the motion of his chest—and Erol's—as he breathed. What reason was there? What reason could there possibly be _not_ to kill Erol again, hopefully once and for all?

The redheaded Krimzon Guard took a breath. "Here's a reason," he said, not sounding strained at all in spite of the pain and pressure of Jak, unflinching against the snakes of violet electricity that shot over his skin when Jak moved even slightly. "I don't have the slightest idea what the hell is going on here, and from the sound of things, neither does anyone else. It might be a good idea to get an explanation before you go around killing people."

Jak blinked, eyes widening slightly, eyebrows slanting as his expression shifted from unadulterated rage to angry confusion.

"…_You don't sound right,_" he hissed. Too clear, too simple, too _human_ to be Erol. The voice was the same, the inflection and accent identical—Noble, Jak had been told, like Veger and Damas and Herz's father, Rall—but the tone was wrong. There was no malice, no madness, no underlying threat of torture and agony and anger that pervaded everything. Just…a voice. Too familiar, and yet still too alien.

And plenty enough to break the anger that held up Jak's transformation. With a final hiss he shifted, slamming Erol under the water completely, just once, then curled backward onto his feet, still crouching slightly as the Light in him went to work.

Erol snapped up out of the water, reaching up with his hands—one of them still tied by Veer's leash, the other having been freed on his way up the elevator without the Wastelander seeming to care—to slam both in fists against his chest, flushing the fluid from his lungs as he sat up and coughed as hard as he could.

Jak glared down at him, but the pallor was leeching out of his features, horns and claws receding. The glare held, though, not fading a whit even when the color of his eyes had faded back to that brilliant—but not electric—shade of blue they had been when he was born. They flashed white for a split second as he reflexively tapped his Light stores, washing out the last traces of Dark from the forefront of his system.

"You should be _dead_," he hissed.

Erol, breath heaving, entire body soaked, looked up at him with narrowed yellow eyes. "Why in the world do you keep saying that?" He reached up and gingerly ran his fingers over one of the wounds in his upper arms, wincing and giving a hiss of pain, fingertips coming away bloody. "This, I deserve. I'll admit that. You, me, attacking each other—that much makes perfect sense." He looked back at Jak, arching one eyebrow. "But all this talk about me being dead doesn't make any at all."

"Makes _perfect_ sense," Daxter spat, resituating himself properly on Jak's shoulder, placing a hand on the elder man's head and brushing lightly at his bicolored hair in reassurance. "'Cause yer s'posed t'be dead. Jak killed yah. _Twice_."

The Krimzon Guard blinked, brow furrowing, and looked from the rat back to Jak. "Twice?" He smirked slightly, tongue playing at one sharp canine for a moment as he chuckled. "You _really_ must not have done a very good job the first time around, then…"

"I didn't kill you the first time," Jak retorted. For all the anger in his voice, there was an underlying layer of calm, a hint of what might have been nobility in his demeanor. That was just as odd as the monster he became being capable of coherent speech. "You did that yourself." Now it was the hero's turn to smirk slightly, the expression seeming far less out of place on his face now than it had during his renegade days. "Or don't you remember that either?"

A moment passed as Erol looked around at the people around him. Veer, no longer holding the end of the leash; Sig, looking at Jak like he was afraid he was going to explode at any minute—which, considering this was _Jak_, was a distinct possibility; Daxter, glaring for all he was worth.

And Jak. Jak, standing tall and straight and _proud_—since when did he have any pride left?—and giving Erol the coldest, most calculating expression the Commander had ever seen. Not necessarily angry, just…like Erol was wasting his air and he wanted him to know it. It was almost enough to put Erol's more scrutinizing looks to shame.

…Did he remember killing himself? No. No, he didn't. He remembered…crashing. He was fairly certain it was a crash, but he couldn't be positive. There was a flash of purple light and air so cold it burned, then his memory fell to ruin. Was that what they were talking about?

Did he remember killing himself?

After a moment, expression going even, he shook his head in reply.

------

Quiet footsteps broke the silence, two pale figures bringing light and life to the dead gloom of the Temple's lower levels. It had been years since anyone had been down in this section; even Jak hadn't come this way when he was running around the place, and he had gone places no one else could reach.

"I hate coming down here," Mahk hissed, holding the eco-bright lamp Kidinga had provided out at arms' length to illuminate as much of the hall in front of him as possible. "The dust is thick enough to make the floor _springy_."

Kidinga took a step off to the side and ran one white-painted hand over the wall, fingers coming away caked in oily grey powder. "It's not so bad," the Leaper-racer replied, rubbing her fingers together. "We were supposed to get to work cleaning this place after the incident with Errol, anyway. We just didn't have a chance."

Mahk nodded. "Preparing for the races took priority." His voice was flat, dull, and entirely unimpressed. Regardless of the fact that Kidinga was his best friend and she was a racer in her own right, he didn't have a problem displaying his distaste for the Kras City Championships.

Kidinga couldn't exactly blame him, either. There hadn't been any irreversible damage done to the temple when the Kras Racing Syndicate had opened it for the races, but having a bunch of exploding cars running around through their mountain shooting at each other was more than a little upsetting. This was holy ground, a structure that had been in existence since the Golden Order came into being during Mar's reign. It wasn't just some racing track.

"But that was almost two years ago," she said with a grin, wiping her hand off on her slacks. "So that isn't really a good excuse anymore." She chuckled. "I guess everyone either forgot, or they all feel the same way as you about coming down here."

"It wouldn't be so bad with some more light," Mahk replied in his own defense. "The eco line from the vent that charged the lamps down here must've been broken sometime…" He trailed off as the two of them stepped through an arching doorway and into a massive room, pillars towering up all around him, shelves and shelves of scrolls and books lining the walls. His deep red eyes widened, head tilting back to look at the ceiling-topped highest shelf. This room was amazing.

Kidinga just heaved a sigh and turned to look up at her much-taller companion. "That's a lot of books to go through."

Mahk continued to stare at all the texts—ancient, crumbling scrolls and yellowed books bound in old yakow-leather laying all around them. They _really_ needed to clean this place, protect these books. They'd lost so much in the Purging of Haven City, it wouldn't be right to let all this be lost when it was literally right under their feet…

He loved books. Words, even. He wasn't Head Scribe for nothing.

He also had an entire group of acolytes working under him, and was already formulating plans to get them down here to work on cleaning and moving all this to the upper libraries on the fourth level.

Kidinga nudged him in the hip with her elbow. "Come on, Mahk, we've got a lot of looking to do. Seem wants anything on eco flashes and resurrection that we can find."

"Right…" He started toward the nearest shelf and, delicately, pulled out a scroll. Setting his lamp down on the platform just below the shelf—a counter on which to read, there had probably been chairs here once—he unrolled the scroll as carefully as he could.

He was surprised that it didn't come apart in his hands, the paper was so worn. In this dim light he could barely read it at all. With narrowed eyes he leaned in closer, turning up his lamp and straining to read the text below the sweeping violet-tinted picture painted at the top of the scroll.

"…Sage Acheron…black as night…" He read aloud the broken sentences, blinking. "'Dinga, this is the old story of the Dark Sage," he said with a grin, turning to look back at her. "Do you remember this?"

Something off in the far corner of the room shifted, stone scraping on stone. Both monks snapped to attention, looking deep into the gloom; Kidinga put her hand on her collapsed fighting staff, waiting for something to emerge from the blackness, but several seconds passed with nothing.

When silence had reigned for a full minute, she relaxed and turned back to Mahk, arching one fine blue-grey eyebrow. "Is there a monk alive that_doesn't_?" she replied.

Mahk just shrugged before looking back to the text and reading again. This had always been one of his favorite stories as a child: a clear fight between good and evil, darkness and light, selfishness and sacrifice. No grey area, just simple black and white. Things must have been so simple back then.

Simple, but no less moving, and—if this painting was any indication—most certainly no less colorful. The image was so clear, even after years and years tucked away down here, away from the world and the protection from the elements it could have provided.

He wondered if that was anything like the actual Dark Sage had looked like, horns broken through the skin on the man's brow and teeth bared like those of an animal, skin a deep grey-violet.

Returning to the text, he read on. It was easier to read now, his eyes having finally adjusted to the darkness. "The Sage Acheron, soul black as night, having eyes like embers and teeth like blades—"

"Well that's not very flattering, is it?" A smooth, slightly-accented voice asked just to Mahk's right.

The scribe cried out, jerked and spun around, finding himself face-to-face with a man that couldn't have been much older than himself, standing at exactly his eye-level. Taking an unstable step backward, Mahk discovered that the man wasn't at his eye level because they were equal height. The stranger's bare feet floated a good foot and a half above the ground.

He was _flying_.

Kidinga was already there, reflexives more honed to defend and strike back than her companion's. Her collapsed staff had been extended to its full length, equal with her height, and she positioned herself between Mahk and the strange man with a single leap over Mahk's head.

She gave him a look up and down, eyes widening when she realized just exactly what she was seeing. "Who the _hell_ are you?" she asked, trying to sound firmer than she felt.

No one should have been down here with them. The only way down was locked, and had been for years; how in the world had this man gotten down?

"That wasn't very nice," the man said, heaving a sigh and putting his hands on his hips. The right sleeve of his long jacket was missing, cut off at the shoulder and hemmed cleanly, but the left sleeve billowed just slightly at the motion, long gold hair swaying behind him. "We've been wandering around down here for _hours_, and the first people we manage to find to ask directions brandish weapons and start demanding answers that I'd be more than willing to give if they'd just be polite. Lovely place, this." He arched one eyebrow. "Do you like it here? I'm starting to think I don't, if only because you're being so rude."

…Kidinga wasn't sure if the man was insane, or just very, very sure of himself. She also wasn't sure if she wanted to know.

"Wait a second," Mahk chimed from behind her. "_We_?"

The man folded his arms and floated a little higher into the air to look down at the both of them. Looking at him now, Mahk was sure that he would be shorter than Kidinga if he were standing on the ground. "My sister and daughter are here as well, but I'm not very well letting them be subjected to this sort of treatment." He turned to stand sideways to them, letting his arms hang at his sides. "We'll find our own way out, thank you."

He bent his body slightly, and then shot off through the air like a bird, darting around a pillar on his way up through a gap in the ceiling to the next level up.

"Wait!" Mahk called. "Kidinga's sorry, I'm sure she is! Come back!"

That blond head appeared, upside-down, in the gap. "Why, praytell? You're just going to let your little friend hit me with a stick."

Mahk grabbed his lantern and moved over to stand directly underneath the stranger. "No I'm not. I…I'll take you to the head of our Order, and she'll help you. Just give me your name and I'll take your whole family to see her."

"And who _is_ the head of your order? A Sage?"

Mahk blinked—that was one _severely_ antiquated term. There hadn't been any proper Sages in centuries. But Seem was close, wasn't she? Light Eco Saturate, most knowledgeable in the ways of her eco…

"Something like that," he replied.

The man tilted his head slightly. "Which eco?"

Mahk exchanged a quick look with Kidinga, who gave him a look to keep doing whatever he was doing, because it seemed to be working. They couldn't have this man running around the Temple unattended, and if calling their High Priest a Sage kept him from doing that then that was exactly what they were going to call her.

"Light Eco," Mahk answered confidently.

The man blinked, then disappeared into the gap again. Mahk's heart sank, certain that he'd just let this bizarre man continue to run loose in the most ancient levels of the Temple, but a moment later he reappeared. This time, he wasn't alone.

In one arm, he carried a little girl. She didn't look much older than twelve, if even that, and kept her pale arms looped about the man's neck as he carried her down to the ground. Behind him came a young woman, flying herself but not with nearly as much grace as the man.

This would be his sister and daughter.

The man kept his child against him, arm wrapped around her waist without a hint of strain in spite of how close they were in size, and stopped at Mahk's eye level. "My name is Gol Acheron. This is Kisan, my daughter, and my dear younger sister, Maia." He grinned slightly. "Now, how about you bring me that scroll you were reading and take me to see this Sage of Light Eco? I'm sure we'll have _plenty_ to talk about."

------

Razer looked up at the massive metal gate blocking his car from coming to port in Spargus' walls, then turned to Herz with his eyebrows raised. "How do these people get in here, again? Jak told me once, but it has been quite a while."

Herz's brow furrowed. "Oh, we need a…Gate Pass…thinger." The green-haired young man turned to look at their backseat passenger. "Do you still have yours, Your Highness?"

Damas nodded, reaching into one of the pouches on his belt and producing the little coppery device. He held it up and pressed his thumb into the slight indentation on one side, activating the beacon inside and triggering a command for the gate to open. He took a steadying breath and exhaled slowly, trying not to admit to himself that he'd been worried that his pass wouldn't work anymore.

He didn't have a whole lot of time to keep on that train of thought, luckily, because as soon as the gate was open wide enough for them to slip through, Razer accelerated, jerking the wheel to one side mere feet from the inner gate. The car came about even as its arcing motion slid it perfectly into place in an open parking slot.

Razer grinned and killed the engine, tossing the keys to Herz, who stuffed them into the pocket of his uniform pants. Damas looked between the two of them, eyes wider than he would ever admit to, and took a steadying breath.

"Do you constantly drive like you're racing?" he asked after a moment, leaning forward slightly, putting a hand on the back of Herz's seat and looking at Razer.

The Northerner turned and smiled back at him. "Of course I do. Is there any reason I should not?"

Herz rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, Your Highness," he said in reassurance, "Razer knows how to drive. I don't think he's ever crashed away from the track." He paused, bright green eyes slanting to his husband. "Well, except for that one time your aunt told me about."

"I was _twelve_, Mein Herz," Razer spat, fine black eyebrows jutting downward. "I can guarantee you would do a lot more than just crash if you have been driving at twelve."

"You still crashed," Herz replied, tone almost singsong. "The great Razer Gefahr, at the very beginning of his racing career, had to be rescued by his aunt after crashing into a mistleholly bush."

"Oh, shut up." Razer might have been pouting, which looked more than a little ridiculous on a man of his stature. It was a little closer to a scowl, though, which kept from completely shattering his image.

Damas grinned slightly—if nothing else, these two were amusing to watch.

Herz just kept up his grin, standing up and swinging off the rollbar to get out of Razer's car. "I've never been to Spargus before," he said as he stopped and leaned against the unused car door, waiting for Razer and Damas to disembark as well. He looked at the massive inner gate, thick eyebrows arching slightly. "Always wanted to see it, though."

Razer shrugged, turning to watch as Damas hopped out and onto the ground in a series of movements not quite as fluid as they could have been, but far more agile that one would have thought a man of his age was capable of.

But then, this man was a member of the house of Mar, and descendants of the hero were said to have Light Eco infused into their very genetic makeup—there was no doubt that granted a slowed age rate. Hell, Razer himself—and Herz now, as well—aged significantly slower than most, and all he had under his skin was Green Eco. It was no wonder Damas was still in such good shape.

"I have not been here in some time, but this is hardly my first visit," the Northerner explained easily. "During the first years that the championships took place in areas other than Kras alone, I had a few trips out here to race."

Damas looked at him then, as though seeing him clearly for the first time, and his deep violet eyes narrowed slightly in scrutiny for a long moment. Razer looked back at him and blinked once, just barely tilting his head in curiosity.

Herz, coming around the car to meet his husband, looked between the two of them. "…Your Highness?"

He didn't take his eyes off Razer, voice low when he finally spoke. "I _thought_ I'd seen you before. You're the man that got Shiv so interested in racing that he left."

Razer smiled. "That would be me, yes," he responded. "And in case you are curious, Shiv is in decent enough hands these days. He is not half bad behind a wheel, either. Someone trained him fairly well before he finally headed off for Kras."

"Whoa," Herz interjected, turning to stand sideways to both Razer and the king. "Wait, _what_? Shiv's from Spargus? _Shiv_?"

"Technically, he is from Haven," Razer corrected, "but he was in Spargus by the time he was eighteen or so—that is when I met him."

"…Shiv. As in the redhead. With _no ears_."

Damas looked at Herz, then back to Razer, a small edge of shock evident on his features—a ripple running out through his eco field strong enough for both other men to taste when they breathed. "What happened to his ears?"

The Northerner waved a hand in dismissal—horribly disrespectful, but very much _Razer_—as he turned toward the inner gate. "A very long story," he replied, taking Herz's hand and starting off with him practically in tow. "And not one for this moment, I think." He glanced back at Damas and smiled. "I do believe you have a homecoming to take care of, Your Highness."

------

It was a decidedly surreal experience to be serving men wearing armor that was coated in red after so long getting accustomed to blue. Thick tattoos, short-cropped hair, ages that didn't seem right at all, and faces that she _knew_. She remembered these people. A lot of them.

Tess had been pretty young when the massacre happened, but that didn't mean she couldn't remember the Krimzon Guards from those days. There had been photos of the fifty-three that died being passed around the slums for years after the fact; from one set of dirty hands to another, pale eyes memorizing lined features and praying that something would be done one day to avenge them. She remembered tracing more than one face with her calloused fingers when she was little, wondering what the man behind the tattoos had been like, if he had friends and family that missed him, what it would be like it she'd lost her cousins, the only family she had left…

That didn't mean she wasn't freaked out. If anything, the familiarity made it worse. There were some younger ones that she had served drinks to back during her Underground days, which was more surreal than anything else.

So far, only one had recognized her, and then proceeded to ask what the hell mad scientist she pissed off, and if she needed someone to kick his ass for her. She had, of course, politely declined, and offered him a free drink for being so nice.

Not that there weren't days that she felt like beating the tar out of the ones that had done this to her, but it wasn't exactly intelligent to sit there and openly announce that she wanted to shoot the head off a god. Seriously, though, the least they could have done was _asked_. Being with Daxter was great—she loved him more than anything. Being _like_ Daxter, though…that was harder. It had been long enough now that she was pretty much used to it, but she missed being more than two feet tall.

It would have been a lot easier to get a headcount of how many dead Krimzon Guards she had in her bar if she were a little taller. As it was, she was forced to hop up on top of a shelf and give a look out over of the room, counting as quickly and correctly as she could manage from such a position.

Thirty-five, give or take a few. That wasn't a lot, not in the long run, but almost all of them were in red. It was a little frightening.

And now she was worried that Krew was going to come hovering down through the skylight and ask what the hell she'd done to his bar. And maybe sit on her. Sitting on her would have been bad before the Precursors left, now it would leave her as little more than a pancake. The kind you throw away when you find them in the fridge. You know, orange and fuzzy.

When Keira showed up and offered to take a shift, Tess wished she could smother her with even a fraction of the adoration she felt at that moment.

"God, Keira, _thank you_," she said, heaving a sigh as she climbed down from her perch and finally just collapsed on the counter, holding a hand to her head and closing her eyes as a headache flared behind them. "If one more of these guys asks what I am, I swear I'm gonna whip out a prototype from _somewhere_ and just blow the whole place to smithereens."

Keira gave a sympathetic smile. "Sorry for not coming in sooner—I was back at HQ with Rhea and Ashelin." Her smile faded. "Rhea told me what happened. At least, what she thinks happened. You know, with her you can never really be sure."

Tess sat up straight at that, ears perking in spite of Keira's warning. No one really knew what to think of Rhea, and they had every right to. How many girls went around telling people that they were gods in elven skin? Really? Not that Tess didn't believe her after everything she'd seen, but…it was still hard to tell sometimes where Rhea's real memories started and the fabrications that had been placed as a stopgap in her head ended.

"So?" The little Maker queried. "What happened?"

The younger woman reached up to brush back a lock of sapphire-green hair and mulled over her thoughts for a moment before giving Tess a somewhat worried look. "The Precursors brought everyone back. Something about restoring balance to the planet or something. Too much light, not enough dark, too many neutrals that never got to choose sides."

Tess officially didn't like this. "And by dark, you mean…"

"I mean people like Praxis." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before adding, quieter, "And people like _Erol_."

Tess swore under her breath.

------

Damas had spent enough time in Spargus to know what to expect from its people. When he first arrived, his reputation earned him more respect than his lineage had, and there was absolutely no _reverence_ brought on by either. Where the people of Haven had been awed by the realization that they were in the presence of a man who shared blood with Mar—_the_ Mar—most Spargans couldn't seem to care less.

So Damas was a banished king, so he was a descendant of Mar. So what? He still had to carry his own water from the well, still had to barter his own things for food and fabric, still had to prick his fingers learning to sew his own clothing, still had to earn his right to stay here.

When he married Sirei and became king at her side, his tasks and privileges had changed somewhat, but there was still no Havenite reverence. He was king, and a _good_ king, but in the end he was still just another Wastelander.

Needless to say, all this made it very surprising—downright shocking, even—when Damas found the people in the city staring at him in awe and parting to let him pass as he made his way to the palace.

Now, at last, he didn't doubt that he'd been gone. Even dead. There was nothing else that could give these people, hardened warriors the lot of them, such expressions of wonder.

He couldn't tell if it was a good feeling or not, the believing. It just _was_.

Razer and Herz walked behind him, like some bizarre entourage, the younger of the two feeling the insecurity Razer had spent far too long working out of him inching back. Razer could feel it, of course, and took his hand in reassurance, doing his best to project a collected calm through his eco field strongly enough for Herz to sense it.

Herz relaxed as they walked.

Damas did his best to keep his eyes straight ahead, but finally found them straying to one side when a familiar voice gasped, "Merciful Precursors…" His deep violet eyes caught Makao, the dark-skinned blue-eyed city resident monk, falling to his knees and just staring in disbelief.

"Your Lordship," the man whispered. "Is it…?" The Wasteland king allowed the acolyte a nod, and it was as if the simple motion broke a floodgate in the crowd.

They cheered. Cheered as they hadn't since Prince Mar was born, with such fervor as to make one wonder if they were heading off to war. Damas smiled—this was the Spargus he knew. Power and confidence and clear, bright voices caught in the desert wind.

He was home.

Before long he made it to the lift that would take him up to the palace, to his throne room, and turned to look back at escorts before he stepped on. "Are you coming?"

Herz shook his head. "We'll wait down here for a while." He grinned, raising his voice to be heard over the shouts and cheers and pounding footsteps as runners raced through the city to spread the news of Damas' return. "Trust me," he continued, "you're gonna want some time alone with Jak."

The man supposed he could understand that, and nodded as he stepped onto the lift.

"Oh," Razer added, "on the chance that we do not get to see him ourselves, do give Jak our regards." He smiled, head tilted slightly, and again Damas nodded in reply.

Then the lift began to move, and up he went.

------

"If he doesn't remember," Daxter hissed, "then I say we remind 'im. With a nice reenactment. Usin' the original players an' all that."

Jak sighed and shook his head. "No, he's…different. Something's wrong."

"Something's always been wrong," Daxter chided. Sig gave Jak a look stating his agreement, and the hero shook his head again in dissent.

"Then maybe something's _right_!" he suggested, waving a hand toward the spot where Veer held Erol tethered, over on the other side of the massive room. "I don't like the reality of it any more than you, but we can't kill him until we know what's going on, all right?"

Erol gave Veer a look, yellow eyes slanting back up from the sweet-smelling Saquite bush in the pot in front of him. "You know what _I_ don't like?" he whispered. The Wastelander arched both dark blue eyebrows. "The way they're over there talking like they think I can't hear them."

Veer actually chuckled a little, and looked about ready to say something in reply when the lift clicked and began to whir and creak. He heaved a sigh. "Oh great, what now?" Jak, Daxter, and Sig seemed to be feeling the same way, because they all gave the device a wary look as it worked.

Then it crested the mouth of the shaft, and those expressions changed instantly. Sig's shifted to one of surprised, then to a relieved half-smile; Daxter just stared, dark blue eyes wide; Jak looked on in amazement, as though afraid to believe what he was seeing.

The lift stopped, and Damas stepped off onto the stone.

He smiled at Jak—the young man's hair was bound back in braids now, like the true Wastelander that he was, and Damas was pleased to see that he still wore the coppery Precurian armor he had been awarded piece by piece during the Daystar War. He stood a little straighter, more confident and less arrogant, less wary of himself, and Damas couldn't help but feel a swell of pride.

He had been gone for years, but Jak had still finished growing up perfectly nonetheless.

"I've been told I've been gone for quite a while," he said with more ease than he felt, stepping across the stone pathway toward them. He did feel much more comfortable in Jak's presence, at least. They had always matched well.

Jak just nodded.

"Welcome back, Your Lordship," Sig said quietly, taking a step away from the throne.

Damas' smiled softened. "It's good to be back." He took a breath and looked around. "I think I've missed this place."

His eyes lit on the two figures off on the other side of the room, currently making their way back over one steppingstone at a time. The larger of the two was Veer—goodness his hair had grown—but the other…

The king's smile fell, voice dropping to an icy hiss at the sight of Erol. "What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded.

The fiery-haired man shrugged. "The same thing as you, apparently. Coming back from the dead, inspiring shock in everyone that sees me, and so on." He held up his hands, bound together at the wrists. "Only I'm on a leash."

"You should be _dead_," Damas stated darkly.

"That's exactly what Jak said," Erol grinned, slanting his eyes on the younger man. "One could almost think the two of you were related."

Damas ground his teeth and looked at Veer. "Get him out of my sight," he spat.

"Right away, Lordship," Veer replied with a grin. "An' welcome back from me too. S'good t'have you home." He turned then and gave a tug on the leash, then a yank when Erol refused to move. The Krimzon Guard gave him a positively scathing look, but started after him anyway, wading through the water now.

As they headed toward the lift, Jak shrugged his left shoulder. "Go with 'em, Dax," he said quietly. "Make sure Erol doesn't try to pull anything."

"Roger dodger!" the ottsel replied a little too cheerfully. He took a leap from Jak's shoulder to the floor far ahead, and then took another leap from the floor to Veer's shoulder when the man reached the lift. "Good luck," Daxter hollered, smiling at Jak as he started down the shaft.

Damas decided he had quite enough questions without wondering what that was about. Instead, he walked up past Sig and took his seat. "Report," he commanded. "What is _Erol_ doing here?"

"We're not sure, Your Lordship," Sig replied easily, happy to be reporting to a higher authority again. As good as he was at it, he would always prefer following Damas' lead to trying to fill his shoes. "Veer found him in the Waste and brought him back here—he'll be put in a holding house now."

Damas nodded. "He _is_ one of the ones that came back, isn't he?" He looked to Jak. "Your friend Herz said you killed him."

Jak started to reply, then stopped to blink in confusion. "Wait—Herz?"

"He and his…partner gave me a ride back here from Haven," the king explained. "He's also the son of an old colleague of mine."

"So…So Herz is _here_?" Jak tried not to wince when Damas nodded in reply. That was just so many levels of bad. Herz hated Erol as much as the next decent Havenite, but he was also scared to death of him. And dating the psychopath's ex-boyfriend. And likely to run into him and Daxter both—the latter of which had yet to forgive the half-blooded Havenite for falling for Razer back during the Kras City Grand Championships.

Jak hoped he would be okay…

"Yeah, I killed Erol," he answered at last. "Gave him a Peacemaker blast to the face."

Damas couldn't completely stifle his grin. "Well done. But he's back now—who else?" He looked between the two Wastelanders before him, eager for a proper status report.

It was Jak who gave the reluctant reply. "Praxis is in Haven—but he's been taken into custody by the Freedom League, so don't worry about that. Everyone that died in Dead Town is back too."

"And most of the folks that died in the big Dark Maker attack," Sig added. "None of the monks, from what I've heard, but we've got a couple KG here with family now."

Damas was silent for a moment. Then, "Sirei?"

Sig shook his head. "No sign of her." He closed his good eye. "I'm sorry."

The king tried not to look disappointed, or hopeful a moment later when he queried the last name he had. "…Mar?"

Jak and Sig exchanged a glance. "Uh…'bout that, Your Lordship…" He trailed off when Jak held up a hand, then used that same hand to reach into a pouch on his belt and withdraw a smooth, reddish object. He held it out to Damas.

"This one's yours," he said softly when Damas had reached out. He dropped the carved crystal into the older man's hand, and Damas blinked in surprise at the sight of his family seal. He checked his vest and, sure enough, his seal wasn't there. He hadn't even realized it was gone…

Then Jak reached up to tug at the strip of leather around his neck, pulling his amulet free from behind his breastplate. "This one," he said, voice still low, "is mine."

------

"This is stupid, you know," Erol stated plainly. "What are you going to do, lock me up and leave me there? Jak said you couldn't kill me until you found out what was going on, so that's really all you could do."

Daxter shot him a withering glare, and his high voice came out in a growl. "If that's all yah can think of t'do t'someone in confinement, then you musta been a lot softer on Jak in prison than he thinks you were."

The Commander shrugged. "You're not me," he stated easily. "You probably couldn't come up with half the things I did."

"You keep tellin' yourself that, buddy, but when you wake up in th'middle o' th'night an' there's something huge an' pointy gettin' shoved down yer throat—"

"'Ey," Veer interjected, turning to give Daxter a stern look even as he gave Erol's leash a tug. "No threats 'til after he's in holdin'. S'pointless otherwise."

Daxter didn't seem to like it, but shut up anyway. He did, however, keep up in his valiant attempt to bore a hole in Erol's head through the force of his glare alone. Erol, unfortunately, remained lacking a hole in his head for the duration of the trip down the lift.

He was thinking rather deeply, though, trying to piece the fragments floating around in his head into some cohesive image, something that he could use to explain what was going on. Apparently, he had been dead. That couldn't possibly be true, so he dismissed it as people overreacting when he crashed. The people here recognized him—including King Damas, in spite of the fact that Erol had just been a boy when the man was banished—which was just bizarre. He did have a reputation, though, so he supposed that could explain that.

Jak was different. That thought stood out the most at the moment, being the least explainable of most everything he'd been through today. Even waking up buried in the desert made more sense than Jak being relatively sane.

He thought he'd done a better job than that.

…And he really didn't like the fact that that thought made his insides cringe a little. What was _wrong_ with him?

The lift lowered to a stop, and Erol looked out at the city before him. Or, at least, he would have, if a certain dark-haired, pale-skinned figure hadn't been standing in just the right place to catch his attention.

Yellow eyes met brilliant green, and Erol tried not to stare.

"…Razer?"

------


End file.
